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GHOSTS

TRUE ENCOUNTERS
WITH WORLD BEYOND

GHOSTS

TRUE ENCOUNTERS
WITH WORLD BEYOND

HANS HOLZER

By the author of
Witches and Hans
Holzer’s Travel Guide
to Haunted Houses

Paperbacks

First paperback edition 2004

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means
including information storage and retrieval systems without written permission from the publisher.

Published by

Black Dog & Leventhal Publishers, Inc.

151 West 1 9th Street
New York, NY 10011

Distributed by

Workman Publishing Company

708 Broadway

New York, NY 10003

Manufactured in the United States of America

ISBN: 1-57912-401-1
hgfedcba

Holzer, Hans, 1920-

Ghosts/by Hans Holzer.
p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references.

ISBN 1-57912-401-1
1. Ghosts. 2. Supernatural. I. Title.
GR580.H56 1997

133.1— dc21

96-52613

CIP

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE

The Nature of Life and Death 13

What Every Would-be Ghost Hunter Should Know 23

Ghosts and the World of the Living 29

What Exactly Is a Ghost? 45

Famous Ghosts 57

1 The Conference House Ghost

2 The Stranger at the Door

3 A Visit with Alexander Hamilton’s Ghost

4 The Fifth Avenue Ghost

5 The Case of the Murdered Financier

6 The Rockland County Ghost

7 A Revolutionary Corollary: Patrick Henry, Nathan Hale, et al.

8 The Vindication of Aaron Burr

9 Assassination of a President: Lincoln, Booth, and the Traitors Within

1 0 A Visit with Woodrow Wilson

1 1 Ring Around the White House

12 The Ill-Fated Kennedys: From Visions to Ghosts

13 Michie Tavern, Jefferson, and the Boys

14 A Visit with the Spirited Jefferson

1 5 Major Andre and the Question of Loyalty

16 Benedict Arnold’s Friend

1 7 The Haverstraw Ferry Case

1 8 “Ship of Destiny”: The U.S.F. Constellation

19 The Truth About Camelot

20 Her Name Was Trouble: The Secret Adventure of Nell Gwyn

2 1 Ghosts Around Vienna

22 The Secret of Mayerling

23 Royalty and Ghosts

24 A Visit with Robert Louis Stevenson

25 Bloody Mary’s Ghost

26 Spectral Mary, Queen of Scots

27 Renvyle

28 Is This You, Jean Harlow?

29 Do the Barrymores Still Live Here?

30 The Latest Adventures of the Late Clifton Webb

31 The Haunted Rocking Chair at Ash Lawn

32 A Visit with Carole Lombard’s Ghost

33 Mrs. Surratt’s Ghost at Fort McNair

Contents

CHAPTER SIX This House Is Haunted

233

34 The Bank Street Ghost

35 The Whistling Ghost

36 The Metuchen Ghost

37 A Greenwich Village Ghost

38 The Hauntings at Seven Oaks

39 The Central Park West Ghost

40 The Ghosts at St. Mark’s

4 1 The Clinton Court Ghosts

42 Hungry Lucy

43 The House Ghost of Bergenville

44 The Riverside Ghost

45 Ocean-Born Mary

46 The Ghosts of Stamford Hill

47 The “Spy House” Ghosts of New Jersey

48 The Strange Case of the Colonial Soldier

49 The House on Plant Avenue

50 The Whaley House Ghosts

51 The Ghost at the Altar

52 A Ghost’s Last Refuge

53 The Octagon Ghosts

54 The Octagon Revisited

55 The Integration Ghost

56 The Ardmore Boulevard Ghosts

57 The Ghost WTio Refused to Leave

58 The Haunted Motorcycle Workshop

59 Encountering the Ghostly Monks

60 The Somerset Scent (Pennsylvania)

61 The House of Evil (New York)

62 The Specter in the Hallway (Long Island)

63 The Bayberry Perfume Ghost (Philadelphia)

64 The Headless Grandfather (Georgia)

65 The Old Merchant’s House Ghost (New York City)

66 The House on Fifth Street (New Jersey)

67 Morgan Hall (Long Island)

68 The Guardian of the Adobe (California)

69 The Mynah Bird (Canada)

70 The Terror on the Farm (Connecticut)

71 A California Ghost Story

72 The Ghostly Usher of Minneapolis

73 The Ghostly Adventures of a North Carolina Family

74 Reba’s Ghost

75 Henny from Brooklyn

76 Longleat’s Ghosts

77 The Ghosts at Blanchard

78 The Ghosts of Edinburgh

79 The Ghostly Monk of Monkton

80 Scottish Country Ghosts

8 1 The Ghost on the Kerry Coast

82 Haunted Kilkea Castle, Kildare

Contents

83 The Ghosts at Skryne Castle

84 Ghost Hunting in County Mayo

85 The Ghost at La Tour Malakoff, Paris

86 Haunted Wolfsegg Fortress, Bavaria

87 A Haunted Former Hospital in Zurich

88 The Lady from Long Island

89 The Ghost of the Olympia Theatre

90 The Haunted Rectory

91 The Haunted Seminary

92 The Ghostly Sailor of Alameda

93 The Ghost Clock

94 The Ghost of Gay Street

95 The Ship Chandler’s Ghost

96 The Ghost-Servant Problem at Ringwood Manor

97 The Phantom Admiral

98 The Ghosts in the Basement

99 Miss Boyd of Charles Street, Manhattan

100 The Haunted Ranch at Newbury Park, California

101 The Narrowsburgh Ghost

102 The Ghost in the Pink Bedroom

103 The Poughkeepsie Rectory Ghost

104 The Ghost at West Point

105 The Stenton House, Cincinnati

106 The Ghost at El Centro

107 The Ghostly Stagecoach Inn

108 Mrs. Dickeys Ghostly Companions

109 The “Presence” on the Second-Floor Landing

1 1 0 The Oakton Haunt

1 1 1 The Restless Ghost of the Sea Captain

112 The Confused Ghost of the Trailer Park

113 The Ghost Who Would Not Leave

1 14 The Ghost at Port Clyde

115 A Plymouth Ghost

1 16 The Ghosts at the Morris-Jumel Mansion

CHAPTER SEVEN Haunted Places 541

1 1 7 The Case of the Lost Head

1 1 8 The Woman on the Train (Switzerland)

1 1 9 The Lady of the Garden (California)

1 20 The Ghost Car (Kansas)

1 2 1 The Ghostly Monks of Aetna Springs

1 22 Who Landed First in America?

123 The Haunted Organ at Yale

124 The Ghost on Television

125 The Gray Man of Pawley’s Island (South Carolina)

126 Haunted Westover (Virginia)

127 The Case of the I.R. A. Ghosts

128 The Last Ride

129 The San Francisco Ghost Bride

The Nature of Life and Death

CHAPTER EIGHT Haunted People 593

130 The Strange Death of Valerie K.

131 The Warning Ghost

132 Jacqueline

1 33 The Wurmbrand Curse

134 Dick Turpin, My Love

135 The Restless Dead

136 The Devil in the Flesh (Kansas)

137 The Case of the Buried Miners

138 The Ghostly Lover

139 The Vineland Ghost

1 40 Amityville, America’s Best- Known Haunted House

CHAPTER NINE Stay-Behinds 631

141 When The Dead Stay On

142 Alabama Stay-Behinds

143 Arkansas Stay-Behinds

144 Georgia Stay-Behinds

145 A Tucker Ghost

146 The Howard Mansion Ghost

147 The Stay-Behinds: Not Ready to Go

148 Rose Hall, Home of the "White Witch” of Jamaica

149 There Is Nothing Like a Scottish Ghost

150 The Strange Case of Mrs. C’s Late but Lively Husband

1 5 1 The Ghost of the Little White Flower

1 52 Raynham Hall

153 The Ghost of the Pennsylvania Boatsman

CHAPTER TEN Poltergeists 667

1 54 The Devil in Texas

155 Diary of a Poltergeist

1 56 The Millbrae Poltergeist Case

1 57 The Ghosts of Barbery Lane

158 The Garricks Head Inn, Bath

CHAPTER ELEVEN Ghosts That Aren’t 707

Contacts and Visits by Spirits

When the Dead Reach Out to the Living

Unfinished Business

When the Dead Help the Living

159 Vivien Leigh’s Post-Mortem Photograph

160 How the Dead Teacher Said Good-bye
Bilocation or the Etheric Double of a Living Person
Astral Projections or Out-of-Body Experiences
Psychic Imprints of the Past

161 The Monks of Winchester Cathedral

162 The Secret of Ballinguile

Contents

L 8

CHAPTER TWELVE Psychic Photography — The Visual Proof 741

Communications from Beyond through Photography:

Track Record and Test Conditions
The Mediumship of John Myers
Authentic “Spirit Pictures” Taken at Seances
Spirit Photography at a Camp
Some Unexpected Spirit Faces
Photographing Materializations

The Physician, Catherine the Great, and Polaroid Spirit Photography
Mae Burrows Ghostly Family Picture
A Ghostly Apparition in the Sky
The Parish House Ghosts

BOOKS PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED BY HANS HOLZER 759

Contents

Hans Holzer Is the Author of 1 19 books, including Life Beyond, The Directory
of Psychics, America’s Mysterious Places, Windows to the Past, and Witches.

He has written, produced, and hosted a number of television programs, notably
“Ghost in the House,” “Beyond the Five Senses,” and the NBC series “In Search
of. . He has appeared on numerous national television programs and lectured widely.
He has written for national magazines such as Mademoiselle, Penthouse, Longevity,
and columns in national weeklies.

Hans Holzer studied at Vienna University, Austria; Columbia University, New
York; and holds a Ph.D. from the London College of Applied Science. Professor
Holzer taught parapsychology for eight years at the New York Institute of Technology,
is a member of the Authors Guild, Writers Guild of America, Dramatists’

Guild, the New York Academy of Science, and the Archaeological Institute of
America. He is listed in Who’s Who in America and lives in New York City.

Introduction

As we settle more securely into the new millennium, people's interests in the cosmic continue to
grow. Even ordinary Joes and Janes who normally wouldn't be caught dead reading an astrology col-
umn are suddenly wondering what the second millennium will mean for them and this world of
ours.

To begin with, the millennium came and went over a decade ago. Jesus was born not the the
year zero but in 7 B.C., on October 9, to be exact, as I proved quite a while ago after fifteen years of
archeological research. This business of the millennium was strictly hype, a promotion that was
created to make people think something very special would happen in the year 2000. The psycholog-
ical effects of this "millennium,” however, are already upon us — casting a shadow in terms of a
renewed great interest in things paranormal, for instance.

Several new TV talk shows and documentaries dealing with psychic phenomena and the explo-
ration of the frontiers of human consciousness have sprung up, filling the television screens with
tabloid tidbits often lacking in depth and validating research. Fictional forays into worlds beyond are
also currently hugely successful both in film and television, and in books and even Websites.

As a purveyor of genuine information regarding psychic phenomena, I welcome this resurgence
of curiosity in worlds beyond the physical because contemplating these matters tends to make people
think about themselves, their ultimate fate, and the nature of humankind itself.

When it comes to dealing with the hard evidence of life after death, there are three classes of
people — and this may remain the case for a long time to come, considering how resistant humans are
to embracing radically new or different concepts.

There are those who ridicule the idea of anything beyond the grave. This category includes
anybody from hard-line scientists to people who are only comfortable with the familiar, material
world and really do not wish to examine any evidence that might change their minds. The will to
disbelieve is far stronger than the will to believe — though neither leads to proof and hard evidence.

Then there are those who have already accepted the evidence of a continued existence beyond
physical death, including people who have arrived at this conclusion through an examination of hard
evidence, either personal in nature or from scientifically valid sources. They are the group I respect
the most, because they are not blind believers. They rightfully question the evidence, but they have
no problem accepting it when it is valid. Included in this group are the religious -metaphysical folks,
although they require no hard proof to validate their convictions, which emanate from a belief sys-
tem that involves a world beyond this one.

The third group is often thrown offtrack when trying to get at the truth by the folks in the
metaphysical camp. This makes it more difficult for them to arrive at a proper conviction regarding
the psychic. The thing for this third group is to stick to its principles and not become blind
believers.

The vast majority of people belong to the third group. They are aware of the existence of psy-
chical phenomena and the evidence for such phenomena, including case histories and scientific
investigations by open-minded individuals. But they may be skeptical. They hesitate to join the sec-
ond group only because of their own inner resistance to such fundamental changes in their philo-
sophical attitudes toward life and death. For them, therefore, the need to be specific when presenting
evidence or case histories, which must be fully verifiable, is paramount, as is an acceptable explana-
tion for their occurrence.

It is hoped that those in the second group will embrace the position of the last group: that
there are no boundaries around possibilities, provided that the evidence bears it out.

Prof. Hans Holzer, Ph.D.

CHAPTER ONE

The Nature of
Life and Death

WHAT IS MAN? WHY IS MAN? HOW IS MAN?

To fully understand the existence of ghosts, one needs to come to grips with the nature of life — and
death. Ghosts, apparitions, messages from beyond, and psychic experiences involving a loved one or
friend who has passed away all presuppose that the receiver or observer accept the reality of another
dimension into which we all pass at one time or another. A die-hard (if you pardon the pun) commit-
ted to pure material reality, even atheism, will not be comfortable with the subject of this book. But
the subject of ghosts just won’t go away. They have always been with us, under one designation or
another, depending on the time period, culture, or religious orientation of the people to whom the
experiences have occurred.

This is certainly not a matter of belief" in” a reality other than the ordinary three-dimensional
one. It is, to the contrary, an awareness that we all have within us another component that passes on to
the next stage of life fully intact in most cases, and somewhat disturbed in some. For everyone, except
the skeptic, the evidence of this is overwhelming. For the skeptic all of this will always be unaccept-
able, no matter how concrete the grounds for believing. Above all, the nature of life and death requires
a full understanding of the nature of man. One must come to this from an unbiased point of view,
unafraid of the philosophical consequences of making adjustments in one’s attitude toward life and
death.

Although humans have walked on the moon and will soon reach for the stars, we have yet to
learn what we are. After millions of years of existence on this planet, we are still unable to come to
grips with the most important question of all: What is man? Why is man? How is man?

To toss the problem of man into the lap of religion by judging it to be the whim of an omnipo-
tent creator is merely to beg the question. Even if we were to accept uncritically the notion of instanta-
neous creation by a superior force, it would leave unanswered the questions that would immediately
arise from such a notion: Who created the creator?

The Nature of Life and Death

To go the other end of the scale and ascribe our exis-
tence to a slow process of natural evolution in which parti-
cles of matter — chemicals — were mixed in certain ways to
form larger pieces of matter and ultimately reached the
stage where life began sounds like a more sensible approach
to the puzzle of our existence. But only on the surface. For
if we were to accept the theory of evolution — and there is
good enough evidence that is valid — we would still be
faced with the very problem religion leaves us: Who
arranged things in this way, so that infinitesimal bits of
matter would join to create life and follow what is obvi-
ously an orderly pattern of development?

Whether we are theistic or atheistic, materialistic or
idealistic, the end result, as I see it, seems to lead to the
same door. That door, however, is closed. Behind it lies the
one big answer man has searched for, consciously or
unconsciously, since the dawn of time.

Is man an animal, derived from the primates, as Dr.
Desmond Morris asserted in The Naked Ape? Is he merely
an accidental development, whereby at one point in time a
large ape became a primitive man?

To this day, this hypothesis is unacceptable to large
segments of the population. The revulsion against such a
hypothesis stems largely from strongly entrenched funda-
mentalist religious feelings rather than from any enlight-
ened understanding that knows better than Darwin. When
religion goes against science, even imperfect science, it is
bound to lose out.

On the other hand, the less violent but much more
effective resistance, by scientists, doctors, and intellectuals,
to the hypothesis that supports man’s spontaneous creation
by a superior being is so widespread today that it has made
heavy inroads in church attendance and forced the religious
denominations to think of new approaches to lure large
segments of the population back into the fold, or at least to
interest them in the nonreligious aspects of the church. But
the professionals and intellectuals are by no means alone in
their rejection of traditional views. A large majority of stu-
dents, on both college and high school levels, are nonbe-
lievers or outright cynics. They don’t always cherish that
position, but they have not found an alternative. At least
they had not until ESP (extrasensory perception) came along
to offer them a glimpse at a kind of immorality that their
scientific training could let them accept.

To the average person, then, the problem of what
man is remains unsolved and as puzzling as ever. But this
is not true of the psychic or esoteric person.

An increasing number of people throughout the
world have at one time or another encountered personal
proof of man’s immortality. To them, their own experi-
ences are sufficient to assure them that we are part of a
greater scheme of things, with some sort of superior law
operating for the benefit of all. They do not always agree
on what form this superior force takes, and they generally

CHAPTER ONE: The Nature of Life and Death

reject the traditional concepts of a personal God, but they
acknowledge the existence of an orderly scheme of things
and the continuance of life as we know it beyond the barri-
ers of death and time.

Many of those who accept in varying degrees spiri-
tual concepts of life after death do so uncritically. They
believe from a personal, emotional point of view. They
merely replace a formal religion with an informal one.
They replace a dogma they find outmoded, and not borne
out by the facts as they know them, with a flexible, seem-
ingly sensible system to which they can relate
enthusiastically.

It seems to me that somewhere in between these
orthodox and heterodox elements lies the answer to the
problem. If we are ever to find the human solution and
know what man is, why he is, and how he is, we must take
into account all the elements, strip them of their fallacies,
and retain the hard-core facts. In correlating the facts we
find, we can then construct an edifice of thought that may
solve the problem and give us the ultimate answers we are
seeking.

What is life? From birth, life is an evolution through
gradual, successive stages of development, that differ in
detail with each and every human being. Materialistic sci-
ence likes to ascribe these unique tendencies to environ-
ment and parental heritage alone. Astrology, a very
respectable craft when properly used, claims that the radia-
tion from the planets, the sun, and the moon influences the
body of the newly born from birth or, according to some
astrological schools, even from the moment of conception.
One should not reject the astrological theory out of hand.
After all, the radiation of man-made atom bombs affected
the children of Hiroshima, and the radiation from the cos-
mos is far greater and of far longer duration. We know
very little about radiation effects as yet.

That man is essentially a dual creature is no longer
denied even by medical science. Psychiatry could not exist
were it not for the acknowledgment that man has a mind,
though the mind is invisible. Esoteric teaching goes even
further: man has a soul, and it is inserted into the body of
the newborn at the moment of birth. Now if the soul joins
the body only at or just before the moment of birth, then a
fetus has no personality, according to this view, and abor-
tion is not a "sin.” Some orthodox religions do not hold
this view and consider even an unborn child a full person.

It is pretty difficult to prove objectively either assertion,
but it is not impossible to prove scientifically and rationally
that man after birth has a nonphysical component, vari-
ously called soul, psyche, psi, or personality.

What is death, then? The ceasing of bodily functions
due to illness or malfunction of a vital organ reverses the
order of what occurred at birth. Now the two components
of man are separated again and go in different directions.
The body, deprived of its operating force, is nothing more
than a shell and subject to ordinary laws affecting matter.
Under the influence of the atmosphere, it will rapidly

decompose and is therefore quickly disposed of in all cul-
tures. It returns to the earth in various forms and con-
tributes its basic chemicals to the soil or water.

The soul, on the other hand, continues its journey
into what the late Dr. Joseph Rhine of Duke University
called "the world of mind.” That is, to those who believe
there is a soul, it enters the world of the mind; to those
who reject the very notion of a soul factor, the decompos-
ing body represents all the remains of man at death. It is
this concept that breeds fear of death, fosters nihilistic atti-
tudes toward life while one lives it, and favors the entire
syndrome of expressions such as “death is the end,” “fear
the cemetery,” and “funerals are solemn occasions.”

Death takes on different powers in different cultures.
To primitive man it was a vengeful god who took loved
ones away when they were still needed.

To the devout Christian of the Middle Ages, death
was the punishment one had to fear all one’s life, for after
death came the reckoning.

West Africans and their distant cousins, the Haitians,
worship death in a cult called the “Papa Nebo” cult.

Spanish and Irish Catholics celebrate the occasions of
death with elaborate festivities, because they wish to help
the departed receive a good reception in the afterlife.

Only in the East does death play a benign role. In
the spiritually advanced beliefs of the Chinese, the Indians,
and the ancient Egyptians, death was the beginning, not
the end. Death marked the gate to a higher consciousness,
and it is because of this philosophy that the dreary aspects
of funerals as we know them in the West are totally absent
from eastern rites. They mark their funerals, of course, but
not with the sense of finality and sadness that pervade the
western concept. Perhaps this benigness has some connec-
tion with the strong belief in a hereafter that the people of
the East hold, as opposed to the Western world, which
offers, aside from a minority of fundamentalists to whom
the Bible has spelled out everything without further need
of clarification, faith in an afterlife but has no real convic-
tion that it exists.

There is scarcely a religion that does not accept the
continuance of life beyond death in one form or another.
There are some forms of “reform” Judaism and some
extremely liberal Christian denominations that stress the
morality aspects of their religions rather than basic belief in
a soul and its survival after death in a vaguely defined
heaven or hell. Communism in its pure Marxist form,
which is of course a kind of religion, goes out of its way to
denounce the soul concept.

Not a single religious faith tries to rationalize its
tenets of immortality in scientifically valid terms. Orthodox
Catholicism rejects the inquiry itself as unwanted or at the
very least proper only for those inside the professional hier-
archy of the church. Some Protestant denominations, espe-
cially fundamentalists, find solace in biblical passages that
they interpret as speaking out against any traffic with death
or inquiry into areas dealing with psychic phenomena. The

vast majority of faiths, however, neither encourage nor for-
bid the search for objective proof that what the church
preaches on faith may have a basis in objective fact.

It is clear that one step begets another. If we accept the
reality of the soul, we must also ask ourselves, where does
the soul go after death? Thus interest concerning the nature
of man quite easily extends to a curiosity about the world
that the soul inhabits once it leaves its former abode.

Again, religion has given us descriptions galore of the
afterlife, many embroidered in human fashion with ele-
ments of man-made justice but possessing very little
factuality.

Inquiring persons will have to wait until they them-
selves get to the nonphysical world, or they will have to
use one of several channels to find out what the nonphysi-
cal world is like.

When experience is firsthand, one has only one’s own
status or state of being to consider; waiting for or taking
the ultimate step in order to find out about the next world
is certainly a direct approach.

Desire to communicate with the dead is as old as
humanity itself. As soon as primitive man realized that
death could separate him from a loved one and that he
could not prevent that person’s departure, he thought of
the next best thing: once gone, how could he communicate
with the dead person? Could he bring him back? Would he
join him eventually?

These are the original elements, along with certain
observed forces in nature, that have contributed to the
structure of early religions.

But primitive man had little or no understanding of
nature around him and therefore personified all forces he
could not understand or emulate. Death became a person
of great and sinister power who ruled in a kingdom of
darkness somewhere far away. To communicate with a
departed loved one, one would have to have Death’s per-
mission or would have to outsmart him. Getting Death’s
permission to see a loved one was rare (e.g., the story of
Orpheus and Eurydice).

Outsmarting Death was even more difficult. Every-
man never succeeded, nor did the wealthy Persian mer-
chant who ran away to Samara only to find Death there
waiting for him. In these examples Death was waiting for
the man himself, and it was not a question of getting past
him into his kingdom to see the departed one. But it shows
how all -knowing the personified Death of primitive and
ancient man was.

The West African form of contact with the dead,
which the people of Haiti still practice to this day, is
speaking through the water; again it is a question of either
avoiding the voodoo gods or bribing them. Communication
with the dead is never easy in primitive society.

In the East, where ancestor worship is part of the
religious morality, communication is possible through the

The Nature of Life and Death

established channel of the priest, but the occasion has to
warrant it. Here too we have unquestioned adherence to
the orders given to the living by their forebears, as a matter
of respect. As we dig deeper into the religious concepts of
eastern origin, we find such a constant interplay between
the living and the dead that one understands why some
Asians are not afraid to die or do not take the kind of pre-
cautions western people would take under similar circum-
stances. Death to them is not a stranger or a punishment or
a fearful avenger of sins committed in the flesh.

In modern times, only spiritualism has approached
the subject of the dead with a degree of rationalism,
although it tends to build its edifice of believability occa-
sionally on very shaky ground. The proof of survival of the
human personality is certainly not wanting, yet spiritualism
ignores the elements in man that are mortal but nonphysi-
cal, and gives credit to the dead for everything that tran-
scends the five senses. But research on ESP has shown that
some of these experiences need not be due to the spirit
intervention, although they may not be explicable in terms
of orthodox science. We do have ESP in our incarnate state
and rarely use the wondrous faculties of our minds to the
fullest.

Nevertheless, the majority of spiritualist beliefs are
capable of verification. I have worked with some of the best
spiritualist mediums to learn about trafficking with the
“other world.” For the heart of spiritualist belief is commu-
nication with the dead. If it exists, then obviously spiritual-
ism has a very good claim to be a first-class religion, if not
more. If the claim is fraudulent, then spiritualism would be
as cruel a fraud as ever existed, deceiving man’s deepest
emotions.

Assuming that the dead exist and live on in a world
beyond our physical world, it would be of the greatest
interest to learn the nature of the secondary world and the
laws that govern it. It would be important to understand
“the art of dying,” as the medieval esoterics called it, and
come to a better understanding also the nature of this tran-
sition called death.

Having accepted the existence of a nonphysical world
populated by the dead, we next should examine the contin-
uing contacts between the two worlds and the two-way
nature of these communications: those initiated by the liv-
ing, and those undertaken by the dead.

Observation of so-called spontaneous phenomena will
be just as important as induced experiments or attempts at
contact. In all this we must keep a weather eye open for
deceit, misinterpretation, or self-delusion. So long as there
is a human faculty involved in this inquiry, we must allow
for our weaknesses and limitations. By accepting safe-
guards, we do not close our minds to the astonishing facts
that may be revealed just because those facts seem contrary
to current thinking. If we proceed with caution, we may

CHAPTER ONE: The Nature of Life and Death

contribute something that will give beleaguered humankind
new hope, new values, and new directions.

RETURN FROM THE DEAD

Nothing could be more convincing than the testimony of
those people who have actually been to that other world
and returned "to tell the tale.” This material substantiates
much of the phenomena that has made itself known to
many in personal encounters, and also with the help of
competent psychics and mediums.

While evidence of communication with the dead will
provide the bulk of the evidential material that supports
the conditions and decrees existing in that other world, we
have also a number of testimonies from people who have
entered the next world but not stayed in it. The cases
involve people who were temporarily separated from their
physical reality — without, however, being cut off from it
permanently — and catapulted into the state we call death.
These are mainly accident victims who recovered and those
who underwent surgery and during the state of anesthesia
became separated from their physical bodies and were able
to observe from a new vantage point what was happening
to them. Also, some people have traveled to the next world
in a kind of dream state and observed conditions there that
they remembered upon returning to the full state of wake-
fulness.

I hesitate to call these cases dreams since, as I have
already pointed out in another work on the psychic side of
dreams, the dream state covers a multitude of conditions,
some of which at least are not actual dreams but states of
limited consciousness and receptivity to external inputs.
Out-of-body experiences, formerly known as astral projec-
tions, are also frequently classed with dreams, while in fact
they are a form of projection in which the individual is
traveling outside the physical body.

The case I am about to present are, to the best of my
knowledge, true experiences by average, ordinary individu-
als. I have always shied away from accepting material from
anyone undergoing psychiatric treatment, not because I
necessarily discount such testimony, but because some of
my readers might.

As Dr. Raymond Moody noted in his work, there is
a definite pattern to these near misses, so to speak, the
experiences of people who have gone over and then
returned. What they relate about conditions on the "other
side of life” is frequently similar to what other people have
said about these conditions, yet the witnesses have no way
of knowing each other’s experiences, have never met, and
have not read a common source from which they could
draw such material if they were inclined to deceive the
investigator, which they certainly are not. In fact, many of
these testimonies are reluctantly given, out of fear of
ridicule or perhaps because the individuals themselves are
not sure of what to make of it. Far from the fanatical fer-
vor of a religious purveyor, those whose cases have been

brought to my attention do not wish to convince anyone of
anything but merely want to report what has occurred in
their lives. In publishing these reports, I am making the
information available to those who might have had similar
experiences and have wondered about them.

I cannot emphasize strongly enough that the cases I
am reporting in the following pages do not fall into the cat-
egory of what many doctors like to call hallucinations,
mental aberrations, or fantasies. The clarity of the experi-
ences, the full remembrance of them afterward, the many
parallels between individual experiences reported by people
in widely scattered areas, and finally the physical condition
of the percipients at the time of the experience all weigh
heavily against the dismissal of such experiences as being
of hallucinatory origin.

Mrs. Virginia S., a resident in one of the western
states, had in the past held various responsible jobs in
management and business. On March 13, 1960, she under-
went surgery for, as she put it, repair to her muscles. Dur-
ing the operation, she lost so much blood she was declared
clinically dead. Nevertheless, the surgeons worked fever-
ishly to bring her back, and she recovered. This is what
Mrs. S. experienced during the period when the medical
team was unable to detect any sign of life in her:

“I was climbing a rock wall and was standing straight
in the air. Nothing else was around it; it seemed flat. At
the top of this wall was another stone railing about two feet
high. I grabbed for the edge to pull myself over the wall,
and my father, who is deceased, appeared and looked down
at me. He said, ‘You cannot come up yet; go back, you
have something left to do.’ I looked down and started to go
down and the next thing I heard were the words ‘She’s
coming back.'”

Mrs. j. L. H., a resident in her middle thirties living
in British Columbia, had an amazing experience on her
way back from the funeral of her stepfather, George H. She
was driving with a friend, Clarence G., and there was a
serious accident. Clarence was killed instantly, and Mrs. H.
was seriously hurt. “I don’t remember anything except see-
ing car lights coming at me, for I had been sleeping,” Mrs.

H. explained. “I first remember seeing my stepdad,

George, step forward out of a cloudy mist and touch me on
my left shoulder. He said, ‘Go back, June, it’s not time
yet.’ I woke up with the weight of his hand still on my
shoulder.”

The curious thing about this case is that two people
were in the same accident, yet one of them was evidently
marked for death while the other was not. After Mrs. H.
had recovered from her injuries and returned home, she
woke up one night to see a figure at the end of her bed
holding out his hand toward her as if wanting her to come
with him. When she turned her light on, the figure disap-
peared but it always returned when she turned the light
off again. During subsequent appearances, the entity tried
to lift Mrs. H. out of her bed, pulling all the covers off
her, thereafter forcing her to sleep with the lights on. It

would appear that Clarence could not understand why he
was on the other side of life without his friend.

Mrs. Phyllis G., also from Canada, had a most
remarkable experience in March 1949. She had just given
birth to twin boys at her home, and the confinement
seemed normal and natural. By late evening, however, she
began to suffer from a very severe headache. By morning
she was unconscious and was rushed to the hospital with a
cerebral hemorrhage. She was unconscious for three days
during which the doctors did their best to save her life. It
was during this time that she had a most remarkable expe-
rience.

‘‘My husband’s grandmother had died the previous
August, but she came to me during my unconscious state,
dressed in the whitest white robe, and there was light shin-
ing around her. She seemed to me to be in a lovely, quiet
meadow. Her arms were held out to me and she called my
name. ‘Phyllis, come with me.’ I told her this was not pos-
sible as I had my children to take care of. Again she said,
‘Phyllis, come with me, you will love it here.’ Once again,

I told her it wasn’t possible, I said, ‘Gran, I can't. I must
look after my children.’ With this she said, ‘I must take
someone. I will take Jeffrey.' I didn’t object to this, and
Gran just faded away.” Mrs. G. recovered, and her son
Jeffrey, the first of the two twins, wasn’t taken either and
at twenty-eight years old was doing fine. His mother, how-
ever, was plagued by a nagging feeling in the back of her
mind that perhaps his life may not be as long as it ought to
be. During the moments when her grandmother appeared,
Mrs. G. had been considered clinically dead.

There are many cases on record in which a person
begins to become part of another dimension even when
there is still hope for recovery, but at a time when the ties
between consciousness and body are already beginning to
loosen. An interesting case was reported to me by Mrs. J.

P. of California. While still a teenager, Mrs. P. had been
very ill with influenza but was just beginning to recover
when she had a most unusual experience.

One morning her father and mother came into her
bedroom to see how she was feeling. “After a few minutes
I asked them if they could hear the beautiful music. I still
remember that my father looked at my mother and said,
‘She’s delirious.’ I vehemently denied that. Soon they left.
As I glanced out my second-floor bedroom window
towards the wooded hills I love, I saw a sight that literally
took my breath away. There, superimposed on the trees,
was a beautiful cathedral -type structure from which that
beautiful music was emanating. Then I seemed to be look-
ing down on the people. Everyone was singing, but it was
the background music that thrilled my soul. Someone
dressed in white was leading the singing. The interior of
the church seemed strange to me. It was only in later years,
after I had attended services at an Episcopal church and
also at a Catholic church, that I realized the front of the

The Nature of Life and Death

church I had seen was more in the Catholic style, with the
beautiful altar. The vision faded. Two years later, when I
was ill again, the scene and music returned.”

On January 5, 1964, Mr. R. J. I. of Pittsburgh,
Pennsylvania, was rushed to the hospital with a bleeding
ulcer. On admittance he received a shot and became
unconscious. Attempts were immediately made to stop the
bleeding, and finally he was operated on. During the oper-
ation, Mr. I. lost fifteen pints of blood, suffered convulsions,
and had a temperature of 106 degrees. He was as close to
death as one could come and was given the last rites of his
church. However, during the period of his unconsciousness
he had a remarkable experience. "On the day my doctor
told my wife I had only an hour to live, I saw, while
unconscious, a man with black hair and a white robe with a
gold belt come from behind the altar, look at me, and
shake his head. I was taken to a long hall, and purple robes
were laid out for me. There were many candles lit in this
hall.”

Many cases of this kind occur when the subject is
being prepared for surgery or undergoing surgery; some-
times the anesthetic allows disassociation to occur more
easily. This is not to say that people necessarily hallucinate
under the influence of anesthetic drugs or due to the lack
of blood or from any other physical cause. If death is the
dissolution of the link between physical body and etheric
body, it stands to reason that any loosening of this link is
likely to allow the etheric body to move away from its
physical shell, although still tied to it either by an invisible
silver cord or by some form of invisible tie that we do not
as yet fully understand. Otherwise those who have returned
from the great beyond would not have done so.

Mrs. J. M., a resident of Canada, was expecting her
fourth child in October 1956.

"Something went wrong, and when I had a contrac-
tion I went unconscious. My doctor was called, and I
remember him telling me he couldn’t give any anesthetic as
he might have to operate. Then I passed out, but I could
still hear him talking and myself talking back to him. Then
I couldn’t hear him any longer, and I found myself on the
banks of a river with green grass and white buildings on
the other side. I knew if I could get across I’d never be
tired again, but there was no bridge and the water was very
rough. I looked back and I saw myself lying there, back in
the hospital, with nurses and doctors around me, and Dr.
M. had his hand on the back of my neck and he was call-
ing me, and he looked so worried that I knew I had to go
back. I had the baby, and then I was back in the room and
the doctor explained to my husband what happened. I
asked him why he had his hand on my neck, and he
replied that it was the only place on my body where he
could find a pulse and for over a minute he couldn’t even
feel one there. Was this the time when I was standing on
the riverbank?”

CHAPTER ONE: The Nature of Life and Death

Deborah B. is a young lady living in California with
a long record of psychic experiences. At times, when she’s
intensely involved in an emotional situation, she undergoes
what we parapsychologists call a disassociation of personal-
ity. For a moment, she is able to look into another dimen-
sion, partake of visionary experiences not seen or felt by
others in her vicinity. One such incident occurred to Debo-
rah during a theater arts class at school. She looked up
from her script and saw “a man standing there in a flowing
white robe, staring at me, with golden or blond hair down
to his shoulders; a misty fog surrounded him. I couldn’t
make out his face, but I knew he was staring at me. During
this time I had a very peaceful and secure feeling. He then
faded away.”

Later that year, after an emotional dispute between
Deborah and her mother, another visionary experience took
place. "I saw a woman dressed in a long, blue flowing robe,
with a white shawl or veil over her head, beckoning to a
group of three or four women dressed in rose-colored robes
and white veils. The lady in blue was on the steps of a
church or temple with very large pillars. Then it faded
out.”

One might argue that Deborah’s imagination was cre-
ating visionary scenes within her, if it weren’t for the fact
that what she describes has been described by others, espe-
cially people who have found themselves on the threshold
of death and have returned. The beckoning figure in the
flowing robe has been reported by many, sometimes identi-
fied as Jesus, sometimes simply as master. The identifica-
tion of the figure depends, of course, on the religious or
metaphysical attitude of the subject, but the feeling caused
by his appearance seems to be universally the same: a sense
of peace and complete contentment.

Mrs. C. B. of Connecticut has had a heart problem
for over 25 years. The condition is under control so long as
she takes the tablets prescribed for her by her physician.
Whenever her blood pressure passes the two hundred
mark, she reaches for them. When her pulse rate does not
respond to the medication, she asks to be taken to the hos-
pital for further treatment. There drugs are injected into
her intravenously, a procedure that is unpleasant and that
she tries to avoid at all costs. But she has lived with this
condition for a long time and knows what she must do to
survive. On one occasion she had been reading in bed and
was still awake around five o’clock in the morning. Her
heart had been acting up again for an hour or so. She even
applied pressure to various pressure points she knew about,
in the hope that her home remedies would slow down her
pulse rate, but to no avail. Since she did not wish to
awaken her husband, she was waiting to see whether the
condition would abate itself. At that moment Mrs. B. had
a most remarkable experience.

"Into my window flew, or glided, a woman. She was
large, beautiful, and clothed in a multicolored garment with
either arms or wings close to her sides. She stopped and
hovered at the foot of my bed to the right and simply

stayed there. I was so shocked, and yet I knew that I was
seeing her as a physical being. She turned neither to the
right nor to the left but remained absolutely stone-faced
and said not a word. Then I seemed to become aware of
four cherubs playing around and in front of her. Yet I
sensed somehow that these were seen with my mind’s eye
rather than with the material eyes. I don’t know how to
explain from any reasonable standpoint what I said or did;

I only knew what happened. I thought, ‘This is the angel
of death. My time has come.’ I said audibly, ‘If you are
from God, I will go with you.’ As I reached out my hand
to her, she simply vanished in midair. Needless to say, the
cherubs vanished too. I was stunned, but my heart beat
had returned to normal.”

Mrs. L. L. of Michigan dreamed in July 1968 that
she and her husband had been killed in an automobile acci-
dent. In November of that year, the feeling that death was
all around her became stronger. Around the middle of the
month, the feeling was so overwhelming she telephoned her
husband, who was then on a hunting trip, and informed
him of her death fears. She discussed her apprehensions
with a neighbor, but nothing helped allay her uneasiness.
On December 17, Mrs. L. had still another dream, again
about imminent death. In this dream she knew that her
husband would die and that she could not save him, no
matter what she did. Two days later, Mrs. L. and her hus-
band were indeed in an automobile accident. He was killed,
and Mrs. L. nearly died. According to the attending physi-
cian, Dr. S., she should have been a dead woman, consid-
ering her injuries. But during the stay in the hospital, when
she had been given up and was visited by her sister, she
spoke freely about a place she was seeing and the dead rel-
atives she was in contact with at the time. Although she
was unconscious, she knew that her husband was dead, but
she also knew that her time had not come, that she had a
purpose to achieve in life and therefore could not stay on
the "plane” on which she temporarily was. The sister, who
did not understand any of this, asked whether Mrs. L. had
seen God and whether she had visited heaven. The uncon-
scious subject replied that she had not seen God nor was
she in heaven, but on a certain plane of existence. The sis-
ter thought that all this was nonsense and that her dying
sister was delirious, and left.

Mrs. L. herself remembers quite clearly how life
returned to her after her visit to the other plane. “I felt life
coming to my body, from the tip of my toes to the tip of
my head. I knew I couldn’t die. Something came back into
my body; I think it was my soul. I was at complete peace
about everything and could not grieve about the death of
my husband. I had complete forgiveness for the man who
hit us; I felt no bitterness toward him at all.”

Do some people get an advance glimpse of their own
demise? It would be easy to dismiss some of the precogni-
tive or seemingly precognitive dreams as anxiety -caused,
perhaps due to the dreamer’s fantasies. However, many of
these dreams parallel each other and differ from ordinary

anxiety dreams in their intensity and the fact that they are
remembered so very clearly upon awakening.

A good case in point is a vivid dream reported to me
by Mrs. Peggy C., who lives in a New York suburb. The
reason for her contacting me was the fact that she had
developed a heart condition and was wondering whether a
dream she had had twenty years before was an indication
that her life was nearing its end. In the dream that had so
unnerved her through the years, she was walking past a
theater where she met a dead brother-in-law. "I said to
him, ‘Hi, Charlie, what are you doing here?’ He just
smiled, and then in my dream it dawned on me that the
dead come for the living. I said to him ‘Did you come for
me?’ He said, ‘Yes.’ I said to him, 'Did I die?’ He said,

‘Yes.’ I said, ‘I wasn’t sick. Was it my heart?’ He nodded,
and I said, ‘I’m scared.’ He said, ‘There is nothing to be
scared of, just hold onto me.’ I put my arms around him,
and we sailed through the air of darkness. It was not a
frightening feeling but a pleasant sensation. I could see the
buildings beneath us. Then we came to a room where a
woman was sitting at a desk. In the room were my brother-
in-law, an old lady, and a mailman. She called me to her
desk. I said, ‘Do we have to work here too?’ She said, ‘We
are all assigned to duties. What is your name?’ I was chris-
tened Bernadine, but my mother never used the name. I
was called Peggy. I told her ‘Peggy.’ She said, ‘No, your
name is Bernadine.’ Then, my brother-in-law took me by
the arms and we were going upstairs when I awakened. I
saw my husband standing over me with his eyes wide
open, but I could not move. I was thinking to myself,
‘Please shake me, I’m alive,’ but I could not move or talk.
After a few minutes, my body jerked in bed, and I opened
my eyes and began to cry.” The question is, did Mrs. C.
have a near-death experience and return from it, or was her
dream truly precognitive, indicative perhaps of things yet
to come?

Doctor Karlis Osis published his findings concerning
many deathbed experiences, wherein the dying recognize
dead relatives in the room who have seemingly come to
help them across the threshold into the next world. A lady
in South Carolina, Mrs. M. C., reported one particularly
interesting case to me. She herself has a fair degree of
mediumship, which is a factor in the present case. “I stood
behind my mother as she lay dying at the age of some sev-
enty years. She had suffered a cerebral stroke, and was
unable to speak. Her attendants claimed they had had no
communication with her for over a week. As I let my mind
go into her, she spoke clearly and flawlessly, ‘If only you
could see how beautiful and perfect it all is,’ she said, then
called out to her dead father, saying ‘Papa, Papa.’ I then
spoke directly to her and asked her, did she see Papa? She
answered as if she had come home, so to speak. ‘Yes, I see
Papa.’ She passed over onto the other side shortly, in a
matter of days. It was as if her father had indeed come

The Nature of Life and Death

after her, as if we saw him, and she spoke to me clearly,
with paralyzed mouth and throat muscles.”

Sometimes the dead want the living to know how
wonderful their newfound world is. Whether this is out of
a need to make up for ignorance in one’s earth life, where
such knowledge is either outside one’s ken or ignored, or
whether this is in order to acquaint the surviving relative
with what lies ahead, cases involving such excursions into
the next world tend to confirm the near-death experiences
of those who have gone into it on their own, propelled by
accidents or unusual states of consciousness. One of the
most remarkable reports of this kind came to me through
the kindness of two sisters living in England. Mrs. Doreen
B., a senior nursing administrator, had witnessed death on
numerous occasions. Here is her report.

“In May 1968 my dear mother died. I had nursed
her at home, during which time we had become extremely
close. My mother was a quiet, shy woman who always
wished to remain in the background. Her last weeks were
ones of agony; she had terminal cancer with growths in
many parts of her body. Towards the end of her life I had
to heavily sedate her to alleviate the pain, and after saying
good-bye to my daughter on the morning of the seventh of
May, she lapsed into semiconsciousness and finally died in
a coma, approximately 2:15 A.M. on the eighth of May
1968. A few nights after her death I was gently awakened.

I opened my eyes and saw Mother.

“Before I relate what happened, I should like to say
that I dream vividly every night, and this fact made me
more aware that I was not dreaming. I had not taken any
drinks or drugs, although of course my mind and emotions
revolved around my mother. After Mother woke me, I
arose from my bed; my hand instinctively reached out for
my dressing gown, but I do not remember putting it on.
Mother said that she would take me to where she was. I
reacted by saying that I would get the car out, but she said
that I would not need it. We traveled quickly, I do not
know how, but I was aware that we were in the Durking
Leatherhead area and entering another dimension.

“The first thing I saw was a large archway. I knew I
had seen it before, although it means nothing to me now.
Inside the entrance a beautiful sight met my eyes. There
was glorious parkland, with shrubbery and flowers of many
colors. We traveled across the parkland and came to a low-
built white building. It seemed to have the appearance of a
convalescent home. There was a veranda, but no windows
or doors as we know them. Inside everything was white,
and Mother showed me a bed that she said was hers. I was
aware of other people, but they were only shadowy white
figures. Mother was very worried about some of them and
told me that they did not know that they were dead. How-
ever, I was aware that one of a group of three was a man.

“Mother had always been very frugal in dress, possi-
bly due to her hardships in earlier years. Therefore her

CHAPTER ONE: The Nature of Life and Death

wardrobe was small but neat, and she spent very little on
clothing if she could alter and mend. Because of this I was
surprised when she said she wished that she had more
clothes. In life Mother was the kindest of women, never
saying or thinking ill of anyone. Therefore I found it hard
to understand her resentment of a woman in a long, flow-
ing robe who appeared on a bridge in the grounds. The
bridge looked beautiful, but Mother never took me near it.

I now had to return, but to my question, 'Are you happy?’

I was extremely distressed to know that she did not want
to leave her family. Before Mother left me she said a gentle
‘Good-bye dear.’ It was said with a quiet finality, and I
knew that I would never see her again.

"It was only afterward when I related it to my sister
that I realized that Mother had been much more youthful
than when she died and that her back, which in life had
been rounded, was straight. Also I realized that we had not
spoken through our lips but as if by thought, except when
she said, ‘Good-bye, dear.’ It is now three-and-a-half years
since this happening, and I have had no further experience.
I now realize that I must have seen Mother during her
transition period, when she was still earthbound, possibly
from the effects of the drugs I administered under medical
supervision, and when her tie to her family, particularly
her grandchild, was still very strong.”

Don Mcl., a professional astrologer living in Rich-
land, Washington, has no particular interest in psychic
phenomena, is in his early seventies, and worked most of
his life as a security patrolman. His last employment was at
an atomic plant in Washington state. After retirement, he
took up astrology full-time. Nevertheless, he had a remark-
able experience that convinced him of the reality of afterlife
existence.

“On November 15, 1971, at about 6:30 A.M., I was
beginning to awaken when I clearly saw the face of my
cousin beside and near the foot of my bed. He said, ‘Don,

I have died.’ Then his face disappeared, but the voice was
definitely his own distinctive voice. As far as I knew at that
time, he was alive and well. The thought of telling my wife
made me feel uncomfortable, so I did not tell her of the
incident. At 1 1:00 A.M. , about four- and- a-half hours after
my psychic experience, the mail arrived. In it was a letter
from my cousin’s widow, informing us that he had a heart
failure and was pronounced dead upon arrival at the hospi-
tal. She stated that his death occurred at 9:30 P.M.,
November 8, 1971, at Ventura, California. My home,
where my psychic experience took place, is at least a thou-
sand miles from Ventura, California. The incident is the
only psychic experience I’ve ever had.”

William W. lives and works in Washington, D.C.
Because of some remarkable psychic incidents in his life, he
began to wonder about the survival of human personality.
One evening he had a dream in which he saw himself
walking up a flight of stairs where he was met by a woman
whom he immediately recognized as his elderly great-aunt.
She had died in 1936. “However she was dressed in a long

gray dress of about the turn-of-the-century style, her hair
was black, and she looked vibrantly young. I asked her in
the dream where the others were, and she referred me to a
large room at the top of the stairs. The surroundings were
not familiar. I entered the room and was amazed to see
about fifteen people in various types of dress, both male
and female and all looking like mature adults, some about
the age of thirty. I was able to recognize nearly all of these
people although most I had seen when they were quite old.
All appeared jovial and happy. I awakened from the dream
with the feeling that somebody had been trying to tell me
something.”

There are repeated reports indicating that the dead
revert to their best years, which lie around the age of thirty
in most cases, because they are able to project a thought-
form of themselves as they wish. On the other hand, where
apparitions of the dead are intended to prove survival of an
individual, they usually appear as they looked prior to
death, frequently wearing the clothes they wore at the time
of their passing.

Not all temporary separations of the body and etheric
self include a visit to the next world. Sometimes the liber-
ated self merely hangs around to observe what is being
done with the body. Mrs. Elaine L. of Washington state
reported an experience that happened to her at the age of
sixteen. "I had suffered several days from an infected back
tooth, and since my face was badly swollen, our dentist
refused to remove the tooth until the swelling subsided.
When it did, and shortly after the novocaine was adminis-
trated, I found myself floating close to an open window. I
saw my body in the dental chair and the dentist working
feverishly. Our landlady, Mrs. E., who had brought me to
the dentist, stood close by, shaking me and looking quite
flabbergasted and unbelieving. My feeling at the time was
of complete peace and freedom. There was no pain, no
anxiety, not even an interest in what was happening close
to that chair.

“Soon I was back to the pain and remember as I left
the office that I felt a little resentful. The dentist phoned
frequently during the next few days for assurance that I
was alright.”

According to one report, a Trappist monk who had
suffered a cardiac arrest for a period of ten minutes
remembered a visit to a world far different from that which
his religion had taught him. Brother G. spoke of seeing
fluffy white clouds and experiencing a sense of great joy.

As a result of his amazing experience, the monk now helps
people on the terminal list of a local hospital face death
more adequately. He can tell them that there nothing to
fear.

A New Jersey physician, Dr. Joseph G., admitted
publicly that he had "died” after a severe attack of pneu-
monia in 1934 and could actually see himself lying on the
deathbed. At the time, worrying how his mother would feel
if he died, he heard a voice tell him that it was entirely up
to him whether wanted to stay on the physical plane or go
across. Because of his own experience, Dr. G. later paid
serious attention to the accounts of several patients who
had similar experiences.

The number of cases involving near-death
experiences — reports from people who were clinically dead
for varying lengths of time and who then recovered and
remembered what they experienced while unconscious — is
considerable. If we assume that universal law covers all
contingencies, there should be no exceptions to it. Why
then are some people allowed to glimpse what lies ahead
for them in the next dimension without actually entering
that dimension at the time of the experience? After investi-
gating large numbers of such cases, I can only surmise that
there are two reasons. First of all, there must be a degree
of self-determination involved, allowing the subject to go
forward to the next dimension or return to the body. As a
matter of fact, in many cases, though not in all, the person
is being given that choice and elects to return to earth. Sec-
ondly, by the dissemination of these witnesses’ reports
among those in the physical world, knowledge is put at our
disposal, or rather at the disposal of those who wish to lis-
ten. It is a little like a congressional leak — short of an offi-
cial announcement, but much more than a mere rumor. In
the final analysis, those who are ready to understand the
nature of life will derive benefits from this information, and
those who are not ready, will not.

The Nature of Life and Death

CHAPTER TWO

What Every
Would-be
Ghost Hunter
Should Know

EVER SINCE I WROTE my first book, entitled Ghost Hunter, in 1965, that epithet has stuck to

me like glue even when it was clearly not politic, such as when I started to teach parapsychol-
ogy at the New York Institute of Technology and received a professorship. As more and more
of my true ghost stories appeared in my books, a new vogue — amateur ghost hunting — sprang up.

Some of these ghost hunters were genuinely interested in research, but many were strictly looking for a
thrill or just curious. Foolish assumptions accompany every fad, as well as some dangers. Often a lack
of understanding of the aspects of ghost hunting, of what the phenomena mean, is harmless; on the
more serious side, this lack of knowledge can cause problems at times, especially when the possibility
exists of making contact with a negative person for whom death has changed very little.

However, readers should keep in mind when looking at these pages the need to forget a popular
notion about ghosts: that they are always dangerous, fearful, and hurt people. Nothing could be fur-
ther from the truth. Nor are ghosts figments of the imagination, or the product of motion picture writ-
ers. Ghostly experiences are neither supernatural nor unnatural; they fit into the general pattern of the
universe we live in, although the majority of conventional scientists don’t yet understand what exactly
ghosts are. Some do, however — those who have studied parapsychology have come to understand that
human life does continue beyond what we commonly call death. Once in a while, there are extraordi-
nary circumstances surrounding a death, and these exceptional circumstances create what we popularly
call ghosts and haunted houses.

Ever since the dawn of humankind, people have believed in ghosts. The fear of the unknown, the
certainty that there was something somewhere out there, bigger than life, beyond its pale, and more
powerful than anything walking the earth, has persisted throughout the ages, and had its origins in
primitive man’s thinking. To him, there were good and evil forces at work in nature, which were ruled
over by supernatural beings, and were to some
degree capable of being influenced by the attitudes

and prayers of humans. Fear of death was, of What Every Would-be

Ghost Hunter Should Know

course, one of the strongest human emotions. It still is.
Although some belief in survival after physical death has
existed from the beginning of time, no one has ever cher-
ished the notion of leaving this earth.

Then what are ghosts — if indeed there are such
things? To the materialist and the professional skeptic —
that is to say, people who do not wish their belief that
death is the end of life as we know it to be disturbed — the
notion of ghosts is unacceptable. No matter how much evi-
dence is presented to support the reality of the phenomena,
these people will argue against it and ascribe it to any of
several "natural” causes. Delusion or hallucination must be
the explanation, or perhaps a mirage, if not outright trick-
ery. Entire professional groups that deal in the manufactur-
ing of illusions have taken it upon themselves to label
anything that defies their ability to reproduce it artificially
through trickery or manipulation as false or nonexistent.
Especially among photographers and magicians, the notion
that ghosts exist has never been popular. But authentic
reports of psychic phenomena along ghostly lines keep
coming into reputable report centers such as societies for
psychic research, or to parapsychologists like myself.

Granted, a certain number of these reports may be
inaccurate due to self-delusion or other errors of fact. Still
an impressive number of cases remains that cannot be
explained by any other means than that of extrasensory
perception.

According to psychic research, a ghost appears to be
a surviving emotional memory of someone who has died
traumatically, and usually tragically, but is unaware of his
or her death. A few ghosts may realize that they are dead
but may be confused as to where they are, or why they do
not feel quite the way they used to feel. When death
occurs unexpectedly or unacceptably, or when a person has
lived in a place for a very long time, acquiring certain rou-
tine habits and becoming very attached to the premises,
sudden, unexpected death may come as a shock. Unwilling
to part with the physical world, such human personalities
continue to stay on in the very spot where their tragedy or
their emotional attachment had existed prior to physical
death.

Ghosts do not travel; they do not follow people
home; nor do they appear at more than one place. Never-
theless, there are reliable reports of apparitions of the dead
having indeed traveled and appeared to several people in
various locations. These, however, are not ghosts in the
sense that I understand the term. They are free spirits, or
discarnate entities, who are inhabiting what Dr. Joseph B.
Rhine of Duke University has called the “world of the
mind.” They may be attracted for emotional reasons to one
place or another at a given moment in order to communi-
cate with someone on the earth plane. But a true ghost is
unable to make such moves freely. Ghosts by their very

CHAPTER TWO: What Every Would-be
Ghost Hunter Should Know

nature are not unlike psychotics in the flesh; they are quite
unable to fully understand their own predicament. They
are kept in place, both in time and space, by their emo-
tional ties to the spot. Nothing can pry them loose from it
so long as they are reliving over and over again in their
minds the events leading to their unhappy deaths.

Sometimes this is difficult for the ghost, as he may be
too strongly attached to feelings of guilt or revenge to “let
go.” But eventually a combination of informative remarks
by the parapsychologist and suggestions to call upon the
deceased person’s family will pry him loose and send him
out into the free world of the spirit.

Ghosts have never harmed anyone except through
fear found within the witness, of his own doing and
because of his own ignorance as to what ghosts represent.
The few cases where ghosts have attacked people of flesh
and blood, such as the ghostly abbot of Trondheim, are
simply a matter of mistaken identity, where extreme vio-
lence at the time of death has left a strong residue of mem-
ory in the individual ghost. By and large, it is entirely safe
to be a ghost hunter or to become a witness to phenomena
of this kind.

In his chapter on ghosts, in Man, Myth, and Magic,
Douglas Hill presents alternate hypotheses one by one and
examines them. Having done so, he states, "None of these
explanations is wholly satisfactory, for none seems applica-
ble to the whole range of ghost lore.” Try as man might,
ghosts can’t be explained away, nor will they disappear.
They continue to appear frequently all over the world, to
young and old, rich and poor, in old houses and in new
houses, on airports and in streets, and wherever tragedy
strikes man. For ghosts are indeed nothing more or nothing
less than a human being trapped by special circumstances
in this world while already being of the next. Or, to put it
another way, a human being whose spirit is unable to leave
the earthy surroundings because of unfinished business or
emotional entanglements.

It is important not to be influenced by popular rendi-
tions of ghostly phenomena. This holds true with most
movies, with the lone exception of the recent picture Ghost,
which was quite accurate. Television, where distortions and
outright inventions abound, is especially troublesome. The
so-called “reality” shows such as "Sightings” and some of
its imitators like to present as much visual evidence of
ghosts as they can — all within a span of seven minutes, the
obligatory length for a story in such programs.

To capture the attention of an eager audience, these
shows present “authorities” as allegedly renowned parapsy-
chologists who chase after supposed ghosts with all sorts of
technical equipment, from Geiger counters to oscilloscopes
to plain flashlights. No professional investigator who has
had academic training uses any of this stuff, but the pro-
grams don’t really care.

Another difficult aspect of the quest for ghosts is that
not everything that appears to fit the category does indeed
belong in it.

Phenomena, encounters, and experiences are either
visual, auditory, or olfactory — they are manufactured
through sight, sound, or smell. In addition, there are pol-
tergeist phenomena, which are nothing more than products
of the phase of a haunting when the entity is capable of
producing physical effects, such as the movement of
objects.

Even an experienced investigator can’t always tell to
which class of phenomena an event belongs — only after
further investigation over an extended period of time is an
explanation forthcoming.

All three types of the phenomena (except for polter-
geists) can be caused by the following:

1 . A bona fide ghost — that is, a person who has
passed out of the physical body but remains in the etheric
body (aura, soul) at or near the place of the passing due to
emotional ties or trauma. Such entities are people in trou-
ble, who are seeking to understand their predicament and
are usually not aware of their own passing.

The proof that the ghost is “real” lies in the behavior
of the phenomena. If different witnesses have seen or heard
different things, or at different times of the day, then we
are dealing with a ghost.

In the mind of the casual observer, of course, ghosts
and spirits are the same thing. Not so to the trained para-
psychologist: ghosts are similar to psychotic human beings,
incapable of reasoning for themselves or taking much
action. Spirits, on the other hand, are the surviving person-
alities of all of us who pass through the door of death in a
relatively normal fashion. A spirit is capable of continuing
a full existence in the next dimension, and can think, rea-
son, feel, and act, while his unfortunate colleague, the
ghost, can do none of these things. All he can do is repeat
the final moments of his passing, the unfinished business,
as it were, over and over again until it becomes an obses-
sion. In this benighted state, ghosts are incapable of much
action and therefore are almost always harmless. In the
handful of cases where ghosts seem to have caused people
suffering, a relationship existed between the person and the
ghost. Someone slept in a bed in which someone else had
been murdered and was mistaken by the murderer for the
same individual, or the murderer returned to the scene of
his crime and was attacked by the person he had killed.

But by and large, ghosts do not attack people, and there is
no danger in observing them or having contact with them,
if one is able to.

The majority of ghostly manifestations draw upon
energy from the living in order to penetrate our three-
dimensional world. Other manifestations are subjective,
especially when the receiver is psychic. In this case, the
psychic person hears or sees the departed individual in his
mind’s eye only, while others cannot so observe the ghost.

Where an objective manifestation takes place, and
everyone present is capable of hearing or seeing it, energy
drawn from the living is used by the entity to cause certain

phenomena, such as an apparition, a voice phenomenon, or
perhaps the movement of objects, the sound of footsteps,
or doors opening by themselves, and other signs of a pres-
ence. When the manifestations become physical in nature
and are capable of being observed by several individuals or
recorded by machines, they are called poltergeist phenom-
ena, or noisy phenomena. Not every ghostly manifestation
leads to that stage, but many do. Frequently, the presence
in the household of young children or of mentally handi-
capped older people lends itself to physical manifestations
of this kind, since the unused or untapped sexual energies
are free to be used for that purpose.

Ghosts — that is, individuals unaware of their own
passing or incapable of accepting the transition because of
unfinished business — will make themselves known to living
people at infrequent intervals. There is no sure way of
knowing when or why some individuals make a post-
mortem appearance and others do not. It seems to depend
on the intensity of feeling, the residue of unresolved prob-
lems, that they have within their system at the time of
death. Consequently, not everyone dying a violent death
becomes a ghost; far from it. If this were so, our battle-
fields and such horror-laden places as concentration camps
or prisons would indeed be swarming with ghosts, but they
are not. It depends on the individual attitude of the person
at the time of death, whether he or she accepts the passing
and proceeds to the next stage of existence, or whether he
or she is incapable of realizing that a change is taking place
and consequently clings to the familiar physical environ-
ment, the earth sphere.

A common misconception concerning ghosts is that
they appear only at midnight, or, at any rate, only at night;
or that they eventually fade away as time goes on. To
begin with, ghosts are split-off parts of a personality and
are incapable of realizing the difference between day and
night. They are always in residence, so to speak, and can
be contacted by properly equipped mediums at all times.
They may put in an appearance only at certain hours of
the day or night, depending upon the atmosphere; for the
fewer physical disturbances there are, the easier it is for
them to communicate themselves to the outer world. They
are dimly aware that there is something out there that is
different from themselves, but their diminished reality does
not permit them to grasp the situation fully. Consequently,
a quiet moment, such as is more likely to be found at night
than in the daytime, is the period when the majority of
sightings are reported.

Some manifestations occur on the exact moment of
the anniversary, because it is then that the memory of the
unhappy event is strongest. But that does not mean that
the ghost is absent at other times — merely less capable of
manifesting itself. Since ghosts are not only expressions of
human personality left behind in the physical atmosphere

What Every Would-be
Ghost Hunter Should Know

but are, in terms of physical science, electromagnetic fields
uniquely impressed by the personality and memories of the
departed one, they represent a certain energy imprint in the
atmosphere and, as such, cannot simply fade into nothing-
ness. Albert Einstein demonstrated that energy never dissi-
pates, it only transmutes into other forms. Thus ghosts do
not fade away over the centuries; they are, in effect, present
for all eternity unless someone makes contact with them
through a trance medium and brings reality to them, allow-
ing them to understand their predicament and thus free
themselves from their self-imposed prison. The moment
the mirror of truth is held up to a ghost, and he or she
realizes that the problems that seem insoluble are no longer
important, he or she will be able to leave.

Frequently, rescuers have to explain that the only
way a ghost can leave is by calling out to someone close to
her in life — a loved one or a friend who will then come and
take her away with them into the next stage of existence,
where she should have gone long before. This is called the
rescue circle and is a rather delicate operation requiring the
services of a trained psychical researcher and a good trance
medium. Amateurs are warned not to attempt it, especially
not alone.

2. No more than 10-1 5% of all sightings or other
phenomena are “real” ghosts. The larger portion of all
sightings or sound phenomena is caused by a replaying of a
past emotional event, one that has somehow been left
behind, impressed into the atmosphere of the place or
house. Any sensitive person — and that means a large seg-
ment of the population — can re -experience such events to
varying degrees. To them these replays may seem no dif-
ferent from true ghostly phenomena, except that they occur
exactly in the same place and at the same time of day to all
those who witness them.

These phenomena are called psychic impressions, and
they are in a way like photographs of past events, usually
those with high emotional connotations.

3. There are cases in which sightings or sounds of
this kind are caused by the living who are far away, not in
time but geographically. “Phantoms of the living” is one
name given the phenomenon, which is essentially tele-
pathic. Usually these apparitions or sounds occur when it
is urgent that a person reach someone who is at a distance,
such as in family crises, emergencies, or on occasion,
between lovers or people who are romantically linked.

These projections of the inner body are involuntary,
and cannot be controlled. A variant of these phenomena,
however, deliberate projections, which occur when a person
puts all her emotional strength into reaching someone who
is far away. Instances of this are quite rare, however.

CHAPTER TWO: What Every Would-be
Ghost Hunter Should Know

4. Finally, we should keep in mind that though
apparitions may appear to be identical, whether as earth-
bound spirits called ghosts, or free spirits in full possession
of all mental and emotional faculties and memories — just
visiting, so to speak, to convey a message — ghosts and spir-
its are not the same.

Compare a ghostly apparition or a spirit visit to a
precious stone: a diamond and a zircon look practically the
same, but they are totally different in their value. Spirits
are people like you and I who have passed on to the next
world without too much difficulty or too many problems;
they are not bound to anything left behind in the physical
world. They do, however, have ties and emotional interests
in the family or friends they left behind, and they might
need to let people in this world know that they are all right
"over there,” or they may have some business in the living
world that needs to be taken care of in an orderly fashion.
Ghosts, too, may have unfinished business, but are gener-
ally unable to convey their requests clearly.

Spirits, people who have died and are living in their
duplicate "inner body,” the etheric body or aura, are differ-
ent from physical living people in respect to certain limita-
tions and the time element, but spirits are simply people
who have passed on to the next world with their memories
and interests intact.

The only thing these four categories of phenomena
have indeed in common is their density: they seem three-
dimensional and quite solid most of the time (though not
always), but try to touch one, and your hand will go right
through.

Only materializations are truly three-dimensional and
physical, and they do occur when there is enough energy
present to "clothe” the etheric body with an albumin sub-
stance called ectoplasm or teleplasm, drawn from the
glands of the medium and/or assistants (known as sitters)
during a seance, and sometimes even spontaneously site
where something very powerfully traumatic has occurred
in the past.

Such materializations look and even feel like physical
bodies, but touching them may dissolve them or hurt the
principal medium, as does bright light. In any event, the
ectoplasm must be returned whence it came to avoid shock
and illness.

The temptation to reproduce that rarest of all psychic
phenomena, the full materialization, is of course always
present, but also easy to spot. When I unmasked a group
of such fakers as part of an investigation into one of the
Spiritualist camps in Pennsylvania, I presented the evidence
on television in a program I helped produce and appeared
in with Mike Wallace, who remarked, “You mean these are
only ghostly actors?” to which I replied spontaneously,

“No, just ghastly actors, because I caught them in the act.”

Seances, which are nothing fancier than a group of
people getting together for a “sitting” in the hope that a
departed spirit might be able to communicate through her

or his principal medium or one of the sitters, have fallen
out of favor these days. But if someone asks you to a
seance promising you that someone on the other side of life
will be contacted, or “called” — beware. The folks on the
other side are the ones who decide that they want contact
with us, not the other way around.

Ouija Boards, crystal balls, and tarot cards are all
useful in helping a psychic focus his or her natural gift, but
they have no powers of their own. Using a board can bring
trouble if those using it are potential deep-trance mediums,
because an unscrupulous person on the other side might
want to come in and take over the players, which would
result in possession.

Communication with ghosts or spirits does sometimes
occur, however, when one of the persons operating the
board is psychic enough to supply the energy for a com-
munication to take place. But the majority of what comes
through a Ouija board is just stuff from the sitter’s own
unconscious mind, and often it is just gibberish.

A word about the dreams of ghosts or departed loved
ones. We are either awake or asleep. In my view, however,
if we are asleep we are “adream,” for we dream all the time
even if we don’t always remember it or are not aware of it.

Some psychic experiences involving ghosts and spirits
occur during sleep in the form of quasi-dreams. These are
not really bona fide dreams. It is just that in the sleep-
dream state, when our conscious mind is at rest, the com-
municator finds it easier to “get through” to us than when
we are fully awake and our conscious mind and rational
attitude make it harder for the communicator’s emanations
to penetrate our consciousness.

Many who have had such dream visitations think that
they “just dreamt” the whole thing, and the medical estab-
lishment encourages this by and large, classifying such
events as quasi -fantasies or nightmares, as the case may be.
But in reality, they are nothing of the kind. These dreams
are just as real and as meaningful in their purpose as are
encounters with ghosts or spirits when one is fully awake,
either at night or in plain daylight.

In the dream state, visitors do not cast objective
shadows, as they often do in the waking condition, but
they are actual people, existing in etheric bodies, who are
making contact with our own etheric bodies. The message,
if any, is often much clearer than it is with ordinary
dreams.

We should pay attention to such incursions from the
world next door, and the people who continue their exis-
tence therein, whether the event occurs while one is awake
or asleep. Most important of all, do not fear either ghosts
or spirits. They will not harm you — only your own fear
can do that. And fear is only the absence of information.

By reading these lines, you are taking an important step
toward the understanding of what ghosts and spirits really
are.

The cases in this book are taken from my files, which
are bulging with interesting experiences of ordinary people

in all walks of life, and from all corners of the globe. The
majority of the witnesses knew nothing about ghosts, nor
did they seek out such phenomena. When they experienced
the happenings described in these pages, they were taken
by surprise; sometimes shocked, sometimes worried. They
came to me for advice because they could not obtain satis-
factory counsel from ordinary sources such as psycholo-
gists, psychiatrists, or ministers.

Small wonder, for such professionals are rarely
equipped to deal with phenomena involving parapsychol-
ogy. Perhaps in years to come they will be able to do so,
but not now. In all the cases, I advised the individuals not
to be afraid of what might transpire in their presence, to
take the phenomenon as part of human existence and to
deal with it in a friendly, quiet way. The worst reaction is
to become panicky in the presence of a ghost, since it will
not help the ghost and will cause the observer unnecessary
anxiety. Never forget that those who are “hung up”
between two phases of existence are in trouble and not
troublemakers, and a compassionate gesture toward them
may very well relieve their anxieties.

The people whose cases I tell of in these pages seek
no publicity or notoriety; they have come to terms with the
hauntings to which they were witness. In some cases, a
haunting has changed a person’s outlook on life by show-
ing him the reality of another world next door. In other
cases, what was once fear has turned into a better under-
standing of the nature of humans; still other instances have
permitted witnesses to the phenomena a better understand-
ing of the situation of departed loved ones, and a reassuring
feeling that they will meet again in a short time on the
other side of the curtain.

Remember that any of the phenomena described here
could have happened to you, that there is nothing supernat-
ural about any of this, and that in years to come you will
deal with apparitions as ordinary events, part and parcel of
human experience.

Lastly, I would suggest to my readers that they do
not get into arguments about the existence or nonexistence
of ghosts and haunted houses. Everyone must find their
own explanations for what they experience, and belief has
nothing to do with it.

Indeed, one of the most troubling aspects of today’s
world is this matter of beliefs. The power of one’s beliefs is
a frightening thing. People often believe in things and
events whether they have actually happened or not.

Because of beliefs people are murdered, wars are fought,
crimes are committed. Disbelief, too, contributes its share
of tragedies.

Beliefs — and disbeliefs — are emotional in nature, not
rational. The reasoning behind certain beliefs may sound
rational, but it may be completely untrue, exaggerated,
taken out of context, or distorted.

What Every Would-be
Ghost Hunter Should Know

Once belief or disbelief by one person becomes pub-
lic knowledge and spreads to large numbers of people,
some very serious problems arise: love and compassion go
out the window, and emotionally tinged beliefs (or disbe-
liefs) take over, inevitably leading to action, and usually to
some kind of violence — physical, material, emotional, or
moral.

In this world of spiritual uncertainty, an ever-
increasing contingent of people of all ages and backgrounds
want a better, safer world free of fanaticism, a world where
discussion and mutual tolerance takes the place of violent
confrontation.

It is sad but true that religion, far from pacifying the
destructive emotions, frequently contributes to them, and
sometimes is found at the very heart of the problem itself.
For religion today has drifted so far from spirituality that it
no longer represents the link to the deity that it originally
stood for, when the world was young and smaller.

When people kill one another because their alleged
paths to the deity differ, they may need a signpost indicat-
ing where to turn to regain what has been patently lost. I
think this signpost is the evidence for humankind's survival
of physical death, as shown in these pages, the eternal link
between those who have gone on into the next phase of life
and those who have been left behind, at least temporarily.

Belief is uncritical acceptance of something you can-
not prove one way or another. But the evidence for ghosts
and hauntings is so overwhelming, so large and so well
documented, that arguing over the existence of the evi-
dence would be a foolish thing indeed.

It is not a matter for speculation and in need of fur-
ther proofs: those who look for evidence of the afterlife can
easily find it, not only in these pages but also in many
other works and in the records of groups investigating psy-
chic phenomena through scientific research.

Once we realize how the “system” works, and that
we pass on to another stage of existence, our perspective on
life is bound to change. I consider it part of my work and
mission to contribute knowledge to this end, to clarify the
confusion, the doubts, the negativity so common in people
today, and to replace these unfortunate attitudes with a
wider expectation of an ongoing existence where everything
one does in one lifetime counts toward the next phase, and
toward the return to another lifetime in the physical world.

Those who fear the proof of the continued existence
beyond the dissolution of the physical, outer body and
would rather not know about it are short-changing them-
selves, for surely they will eventually discover the truth
about the situation first-hand anyway.

And while there may be various explanations for
what people experience in haunted houses, no explanation
will ever be sufficient to negate the experiences themselves.
If you are one of the many who enter a haunted house and
have a genuine experience in it, be assured that you are a
perfectly normal human being, who uses a natural gift that
is neither harmful nor dangerous and may in the long run
be informative and even useful.

CHAPTER TWO: What Every Would-be
Ghost Hunter Should Know
28

CHAPTER THREE

Ghosts and the
World of the Living

I HASTEN TO STATE that those who are in the next dimension, the world of the spirit, are indeed
“alive” — in some ways more so than we who inhabit the three-dimensional, physical world with its
limitations and problems.

This book is about ghosts in relation to us, however, for it is the living in this world who come in
contact with the dead. Since ghosts don’t necessarily seek us out, ghosts just are because of the cir-
cumstances of their deaths.

For us to be able to see or hear a ghost requires a gift known as psychic ability or ESP — extra-
sensory perception. Professor Joseph Banks Rhine of Duke University thinks of ESP as an extra sense.
Some have referred to it as “the sixth sense,” although I rather think the gift of ESP is merely an
extension of the ordinary senses beyond their usual limitations.

If you don’t have ESP, you’re not likely to encounter a ghost or connect with the spirit of a loved
one. Take heart, however: ESP is very common, in varying degrees, and about half of all people are
capable of it. It is, in my view, a normal gift that has in many instances been neglected or suppressed
for various reasons, chiefly ignorance or fear.

Psychic ability is being recognized and used today worldwide in many practical applications. Sci-
entific research, business, and criminal investigations have utilized this medium to extend the range of
ordinary research.

The problems of acknowledging this extra faculty are many. Prior to the nineteenth century, any-
thing bordering on the occult was considered religious heresy and had to be suppressed or at least kept
quiet. In the nineteenth century, with social and economic revolution came an overbearing insistence
on things material, and science was made a new god. This god of tangible evidence leaped into our
present century invigorated by new technological discoveries and improvements. Central to all this is
the belief that only what is available to the ordinary five senses is real, and that everything else is not
merely questionable but outright fantasy. Fantasy
itself is not long for this world, as it does not seem

Ghosts and the World of the Living

to fill any useful purpose in the realm of computers and
computerized humans.

Laboring under these difficult conditions, Dr. Rhine
developed a new scientific approach to the phenomena of
the sixth sense some thirty years ago when he brought
together and formalized many diffused research approaches
in his laboratory at Duke University. But pure materialism
dies hard — in fact, dies not at all. Even while Rhine was
offering proof for the “psi factor” in human personality —
fancy talk for the sixth sense — he was attacked by expo-
nents of the physical sciences as being a dreamer or worse.
Nevertheless, Rhine continued his work and others came to
his aid, and new organizations came into being to investi-
gate and, if possible, explain the workings of extrasensory
perception.

To define the extra sense is simple enough. When
knowledge of events or facts is gained without recourse to
the normal five senses — sight, hearing, smell, touch, and
taste — or when this knowledge is obtained with apparent
disregard to the limitations of time and space, we speak of
extrasensory perception.

It is essential, of course, that the person experiencing
the sixth-sense phenomena has had no access to knowledge,
either conscious or unconscious, of the facts or events, and
that her impressions are subsequently corroborated by wit-
nesses or otherwise proved correct by the usual methods of
exact science.

It is also desirable, at least from an experimental
point of view, that a person having an extrasensory dealing
with events in the so-called future should make this
impression known at once to impartial witnesses so that it
can be verified later when the event does transpire. This, of
course, is rarely possible because of the very nature of this
sixth sense: it cannot be turned on at will, but functions
best during emergencies, when a genuine need for it exists.
When ordinary communications fail, something within
men and women reaches out and removes the barriers of
time and space to allow for communication beyond the five
senses.

There is no doubt in my mind that extrasensory phe-
nomena are governed by emotional impulses and therefore
present problems far different from those of the physical
sciences. Despite the successful experiments with cards and
dice conducted for years at the Duke University parapsy-
chology laboratory, an ESP experience is not capable of
exact duplication at will.

Parapsychology, that is, the science investigating the
phenomena of this kind, has frequently been attacked on
these grounds. And yet normal psychology, which also
deals with human emotions, does not require an exact
duplication of phenomena under laboratory conditions. Of
course, psychology and psychiatry themselves were under
attack in the past, and have found a comfortable niche of

CHAPTER THREE: Ghosts and the
World of the Living

respectability only recently. It is human nature to attack all
that is new and revolutionary, because man tends to hold
onto his old gods. Fifty years from now, parapsychology
will no doubt be one of the older sciences, and hence
accepted.

It is just as scientific to collect data from “sponta-
neous phenomena,” that is, in the field, as it is to produce
them in a laboratory. In fact, some of the natural sciences
could not exist if it were not for in situ observation. Try
and reconstruct an earthquake in the lab, or a collision of
galaxies, or the birth of a new island in the ocean.

The crux, of course, is the presence of competent
observers and the frequency with which similar, but unre-
lated, events occur. For example, if a hundred cases involv-
ing a poltergeist, or noisy ghost, are reported in widely
scattered areas, involving witnesses who could not possibly
know of each other, could have communicated with each
other, or have had access to the same information about the
event, it is proper scientific procedure to accept these
reports as genuine and to draw certain conclusions from
them.

Extrasensory perception research does not rely
entirely on spontaneous cases in the field, but without them
it would be meaningless. The laboratory experiments are an
important adjunct, particularly when we deal with the
less complicated elements of ESP, such as telepathy, intu-
ition beyond chance, and psychic concentration — but they
cannot replace the tremendous impact of genuine precogni-
tion (the ability to foresee events before they occur) and
other one-time events in human experience.

The nature of ESP is spontaneous and unexpected.

You don't know when you will have an experience, you
can’t make it happen, and you can’t foretell when and how
it will happen. Conditions beyond your knowledge make
the experience possible, and you have no control over it.
The sole exception is the art of proper thinking — the train-
ing toward a wider use of your own ESP powers — which we
will discuss later.

The ESP experience can take the form of a hunch, an
uncanny feeling, or an intuitive impression. Or it can be
stronger and more definite, such as a flash, an image or
auditory signal, a warning voice, or a vision, depending on
who you are and your inborn talents as a receiver.

The first impulse with all but the trained and knowl-
edgeable is to suppress the "message” or to explain it away,
sometimes taking grotesque paths in order to avoid admit-
ting the possibility of having had an extrasensory experi-
ence. Frequently, such negative attitudes toward what is a
natural part of human personality can lead to tragedy, or,
at the very least, to annoyance; for the ESP impulse is never
in vain. It may be a warning of disaster or only an advance
notice to look out for good opportunities ahead, but it
always has significance, even though you may miss the
meaning or choose to ignore the content. I call this sub-
stance of the ESP message cognizance, since it represents

instant knowledge without logical factors or components
indicating time and effort spent in obtaining it.

The strange thing about ESP is that it is really far
more than an extra, sixth sense, equal in status to the other
five. It is actually a supersense that operates through the
other five to get its messages across.

Thus a sixth-sense experience many come through
the sense of sight as a vision, a flash, or an impression; the
sense of hearing as a voice or a sound effect duplicating an
event to be; the sense of smell as strange scents indicating
climates other than the present one or smells associated
with certain people or places; the sense of touch — a hand
on the shoulder, the furtive kiss, or fingering by unseen
hands; and the sense of taste — stimulation of the palate not
caused by actual food or drink.

Of these, the senses of smell and taste are rarely used
for ESP communication, while by far the majority of cases
involve either sight or sound or both. This must be so
because these two senses have the prime function of
informing the conscious mind of the world around us.

What has struck me, after investigating extrasensory
phenomena for some twenty-odd years, is the thought that
we are not really dealing with an additional dimension as
such, an additional sense like touch or smell, but a sense
that is nonphysical — the psychic, which, in order to make
itself known, must manifest itself through the physical
senses. Rather than an extra sense, we really have here an
extension of the normal five senses into an area where logi-
cal thinking is absent and other laws govern. We can com-
pare it to the part of the spectrum that is invisible to the
naked eye. We make full use of infrared and ultraviolet and
nobody doubts the existence of these "colors,” which are
merely extensions of ordinary red and violet.

Thus it is with extrasensory perception, and yet we
are at once at war with the physical sciences, which want
us to accept only that which is readily accessible to the five
senses, preferably in laboratories. Until radio waves were
discovered, such an idea was held to be fantastic under
modern science, and yet today we use radio to contact dis-
tant heavenly bodies.

It all adds up to this: Our normal human perception,
even with instruments extending it a little, is far from com-
plete. To assert that there is no more around us than the
little we can measure is preposterous. It is also dangerous,
for in teaching this doctrine to our children, we prevent
them from allowing their potential psychic abilities to
develop unhampered. In a field where thought is a force to
be reckoned with, false thinking can be destructive.

Sometimes a well-meaning but otherwise unfamiliar
reporter will ask me, "How does science feel about ESP?”
That is a little like asking how mathematics teachers feel
about Albert Einstein. ESP is part of science. Some scien-
tists in other fields may have doubts about its validity or
its potentials, just as scientists in one area frequently doubt
scientists in other areas. For example, some chemists doubt
what some medical science say about the efficiency of

certain drugs, or some underwater explorers differ with the
opinions expressed by space explorers, and the beliefs of
some medical doctors differ greatly from what other med-
ical doctors believe. A definition of science is in order.
Contrary to what some people think, science is not knowl-
edge or even comparable to the idea of knowledge; science
is merely the process of gathering knowledge by reliable
and recognized means. These means, however, may change
as time goes on, and the means considered reliable in the
past may fail the test in the future, while, conversely, new
methods not used in the past may come into prominence
and be found useful. To consider the edifice of science an
immovable object, a wall against which one may safely lean
with confidence in the knowledge that nearly everything
worth knowing is already known, is a most unrealistic con-
cept. Just as a living thing changes from day to day, so
does science and that which makes up scientific evidence.

* * *

There are, however, forces within science representing
the conservative or establishment point of view. These
forces are vested in certain powerful individuals who are
not so much unconvinced of the reality of controversial
phenomena and the advisability of including these phe-
nomena in the scientific process as they are unwilling to
change their established concept of science. They are, in
short, unwilling to learn new and startling facts, many of
which conflict with that which they have learned in the
past, that which forms the very basis and foundation of
their scientific beliefs. Science derives from scire, meaning
“to know.” Scientia, the Latin noun upon which our Eng-
lish term “science” is based, is best translated as “the abili-
ty to know,” or perhaps, “understanding.” Knowledge as
an absolute is another matter. I doubt very much that
absolute knowledge is possible even within the confines of
human comprehension. What we are dealing with in sci-
ence is a method of reaching toward it, not attaining it. In
the end, the veil of secrecy will hide the ultimate truth
from us, very likely because we are incapable of grasping it
due to insufficient spiritual awareness. This insufficiency
expresses itself, among other ways, through a determined
reliance upon terminology and frames of reference derived
from materialistic concepts that have little bearing upon
the higher strata of information. Every form of research
requires its own set of tools and its own criteria. Applying
the purely materialistic empiric concepts of evidence to
nonmaterialistic areas is not likely to yield satisfactory
results. An entirely different set of criteria must be estab-
lished first before we can hope to grasp the significance of
those nonmaterial concepts and forces around us that have
been with us since the beginning of time. These are both
within us and without us. They form the innermost layer of
human consciousness as well as the outer reaches of the
existing universe.

Ghosts and the World of the Living

* * *

By and large, the average scientist who is not directly
concerned with the field of ESP and parapsychology does
not venture into it, either pro or con. He is usually too
much concerned with his own field and with the insuffi-
ciencies found in his own bailiwick. Occasionally, people in
areas that are peripheral to ESP and parapsychology will
venture into it, partly because they are attracted by it and
sense a growing importance in the study of those areas that
have so long been neglected by most scientists, and partly
because they feel that in attacking the findings of parapsy-
chology they are in some psychologically understandable
way validating their own failures. When Professor Joseph
B. Rhine first started measuring what he called the “psi”
factor in man, critics were quick to point out the hazards of
a system relying so heavily on contrived, artificial condi-
tions and statistics. Whatever Professor Rhine was able to
prove in the way of significant data has since been largely
obscured by criticism, some of it valid and some of it not,
and of course by the far greater importance of observing
spontaneous phenomena in the field when and if they
occur. In the beginning, however, Professor Rhine repre-
sented a milestone in scientific thinking. It was the first
time that the area, formerly left solely to the occultist, had
been explored by a trained scientist in the modern sense of
the term. Even then, no one took the field of parapsycholo-
gy very seriously; Rhine and his closest associate, Dr.
Hornell Hart, were considered part of the Department of
Sociology, as there had not as yet been a distinct Depart-
ment of Parapsychology or a degree in that new science.
Even today there is no doctorate in it, and those working
in the field usually must have other credits as well. But the
picture is changing. A few years ago, Dr. Jules Eisenbud of
the University of Colorado at Denver startled the world
with his disclosures of the peculiar talents of a certain Ted
Serios, a Chicago bellhop gifted with psychic photography
talents. This man could project images into a camera or
television tube, some of which were from the so-called
future. Others were from distant places Mr. Serios had
never been to. The experiments were undertaken under the
most rigid test conditions. They were repeated, which was
something the old-line scientists in parapsychology stressed
over and over again. Despite the abundant amount of evi-
dence, produced in the glaring limelight of public attention
and under strictest scientific test conditions, some of Dr.
Eisenbud ’s colleagues at the University of Colorado turned
away from him whenever he asked them to witness the
experiments he was then conducting. So great was the prej-
udice against anything Eisenbud and his associates might
find that might oppose existing concepts that men of sci-
ence couldn’t bear to find out for themselves. They were
afraid they would have to unlearn a great deal. Today,

CHAPTER THREE: Ghosts and the
World of the Living

even orthodox scientists are willing to listen more than they
used to. There is a greater willingness to evaluate the evi-
dence fairly, and without prejudice, on the part of those
who represent the bulk of the scientific establishment. Still,
this is a far cry from establishing an actual institute of para-
psychology, independent of any existing facilities —
something I have been advocating for many years.

Most big corporate decisions are made illogically,
according to John Mihalasky, Associate Professor of Man-
agement Engineering at the Newark College of Engineer-
ing. The professor contends that logical people can
understand a scientific explanation of an illogical process.
“Experiments conducted by Professor Mihalasky demon-
strate a correlation between superior management ability
and an executive’s extrasensory perception, or ESP.”
According to The New York Times of August 31, 1969,
“research in ESP had been conducted at the college since
1 962 to determine if there was a correlation between man-
agerial talent and ESP. There are tests in extrasensory per-
ception and also in precognition, the ability to foretell
events before they happen. The same precognition tests
may also be of use in selecting a person of superior creative
ability.”

But the business side of the research establishment
was by no means alone in recognizing the validity and
value of ESP. According to an interview in the Los Angeles
Times of August 30, 1970, psychiatrist Dr. George Sjolund
of Baltimore, Maryland, has concluded, “All the evidence
does indicate that ESP exists.” Dr. Sjolund works with peo-
ple suspected of having ESP talents and puts them through
various tests in specially built laboratories. Scientific exper-
iments designed to test for the existence of ESP are rare. Dr.
Sjolund knows of only one other like it in the United States
— in Seattle. Sjolund does ESP work only one day a week.
His main job is acting director of research at Spring Grove
State Hospital.

* * *

According to Evelyn de Wolfe, Los Angeles Times
staff writer, “The phenomenon of ESP remains inconclu-
sive, ephemeral and mystifying but for the first time in the
realm of science, no one is ashamed to say they believe
there is such a thing.” The writer had been talking to Dr.
Thelma S. Moss, assistant professor of medical psychology
at UCLA School of Medicine, who had been conducting
experiments in parapsychology for several years. In a report
dated June 12, 1969, Wolfe also says, “In a weekend sym-
posium on ESP more than six hundred persons in the audi-
ence learned that science is dealing seriously with the
subject of haunted houses, clairvoyance, telepathy, and
psychokinesis and is attempting to harness the unconscious
mind.”

* * *

It is not surprising that some more liberally inclined
and enlightened scientists are coming around to thinking

that there is something to ESP after all. Back in 1957, Life
magazine editorialized on "A Crisis in Science”:

New enigmas in physics revive quests in meta-
physics. From the present chaos of science's conceptual
universe two facts might strike the layman as significant.

One is that the old-fashioned materialism is now even
more old-fashioned. Its basic assumption — that the only
’reality’ is that which occupies space and has a mass — is
irrelevant to an age that has proved that matter is inter-
changeable with energy. The second conclusion is that
old-fashioned metaphysics, so far from being irrelevant
to an age of science, is science’s indispensable complement
for a full view of life.

Physicists acknowledge as much; a current Martin
advertisement says that their rocket men’s shop-talk
includes ’the physics (and metaphysics) of their work.’
Metaphysical speculation is becoming fashionable again.

Set free of materialism, metaphysics could well become
man’s chief preoccupation of the next century and may
even yield a world-wide consensus on the nature of life
and the universe.

* * *

By 1971, this prophetic view of Life magazine took
on new dimensions of reality. According to the Los Angeles
Times of February 11, 1971, Apollo 14 astronaut Edgar D.
Mitchell attempted to send mental messages to a Chicago
engineer whose hobby was extrasensory perception. Using
ESP cards, which he had taken aboard with him to transfer
messages to Chicago psychic Olaf Olsen, Mitchell managed
to prove beyond any doubt that telepathy works even from
the outer reaches of space. The Mitchell-Olsen experiment
has since become part of the history of parapsychology.

Not only did it add significantly to the knowledge of how
telepathy really works, it made a change in the life of the
astronaut, Mitchell. According to an UPI dispatch dated
September 27, 1971, Mitchell became convinced that life
existed away from earth and more than likely in our own
galaxy. But he doubted that physical space travel held all
the answers. ‘‘If the phenomenon of astral projection has
any validity, it might be perfectly valid to use it in inter-
galactic travel”; Mitchell indicated that he was paying
additional attention to ESP for future use. Since that time,
of course, Mr. Mitchell has become an active experimenter
in ESP.

* * *

A few years ago I appeared at the University of
Bridgeport (Connecticut). I was lecturing on scientific evi-
dence of the existence of ghosts. My lecture included some
slides taken under test conditions and attracted some 1,200
students and faculty members. As a result of this particular
demonstration, I met Robert Jeffries, Professor of Mechan-
ical Engineering at the university and an avid parapsychol-
ogist. During the years of our friendship Professor Jeffries
and I have tried very hard to set up an independent insti-
tute of parapsychology. We had thought that Bob Jeffries,

who had been at one time president of his own data-
processing company, would be particularly acceptable to
the business community. But the executives he saw were
not the least bit interested in giving any money to such a
project. They failed to see the practical implications of
studying ESP. Perhaps they were merely not in tune with
the trend, even among the business executives.

In an article dated October 23, 1969, The Wall Street
Journal headline was "Strange Doings. Americans Show
Burst of Interest in Witches, Other Occult Matters.” The
piece, purporting to be a survey of the occult scene and
written by Stephen J. Sansweet, presents the usual hodge-
podge of information and misinformation, lumping witches
and werewolves together with parapsychologists and
researchers. He quotes Mortimer R. Feinberg, a psychology
professor at City University of New York, as saying, “The
closer we get to a controlled, totally predictable society, the
more man becomes fearful of the consequences.” Sansweet
then goes on to say that occult supplies, books, and even
such peripheral things as jewelry are being gobbled up by
an interested public, a sure sign that the occult is “in.”
Although the “survey” is on the level of a Sunday supple-
ment piece and really quite worthless, it does indicate the
seriousness with which the business community regards the
occult field, appearing, as it did, on the front page of The
Wall Street Journal.

More realistic and respectable is an article in the
magazine Nation's Business of April 1971 entitled "Dollars
May Flow from the Sixth Sense. Is There a Link between
Business Success and Extrasensory Perception?”

We think the role of precognition deserves special
consideration in sales forecasting. Wittingly or unwit-
tingly, it is probably already used there. Much more
research needs to be done on the presence and use of
precognition among executives but the evidence we have
obtained indicates that such research will be well worth-
while.

As far back as 1955 the Anderson Laboratories of
Brookline, Massachusetts, were in the business of forecast-
ing the future. Its president, Frank Anderson, stated,
"Anderson Laboratories is in a position to furnish weekly
charts showing what, in all probability, the stock market
will do in each coming week.” Anderson's concept, or, as
he calls it, the Anderson Law, involves predictions based
upon the study of many things, from the moon tides to
human behavior to elements of parapsychology. He had
done this type of work for at least twenty-five years prior
to setting up the laboratories. Most of his predictions are
based upon calculated trends and deal in finances and poli-
tics. Anderson claimed that his accuracy rate was 86 per-
cent accurate with airplane accidents because they come in
cycles, 92.6 percent accurate in the case of major fires, 84
percent accurate with automobile accidents, and that his

Ghosts and the World of the Living

evaluations could be used for many business purposes,
from advertising campaigns to executive changes to new
product launchings and even to the planning of entertain-
ment. In politics, Anderson proposed to help chart, ahead
of time, the possible outcome of political campaigns. He
even dealt with hunting and fishing forecasts, and since the
latter two occupations are particularly dear to the heart of
the business community, it would appear that Anderson
had it wrapped up in one neat little package.

* * *

Professor R. A. McConnell, Department of Bio-
physics and Microbiology, University of Pittsburgh, Penn-
sylvania, wrote in an article published by the American
Psychologist in May 1968 that in discussing ESP before psy-
chology students, it was not unusual to speak of the
credulity of the public. He felt it more necessary, however,
to examine the credibility of scientists, including both those
for ESP and those against it. Referring to an article on ESP
by the British researcher G. R. Price, published by Science
in 1955, Professor McConnell points to Price’s contention
that proof of ESP is conclusive only if one is to accept the
good faith and sanity of the experimenters, but that ESP
can easily be explained away if one assumes that the exper-
imenters, working in collaboration with their witnesses,
have intentionally faked the results. McConnell goes on to
point out that this unsubstantiated suggestion of fraud by
Price, a chemist by profession, was being published on the
first page of the most influential scientific journal in
America.

A lot of time has passed since 1955: the American
Association for the Advancement of Science has recently
voted the Parapsychology Association a member. The lat-
ter, one of several bodies of scientific investigators in the
field of parapsychology, had sought entrance into the asso-
ciation for many years but had been barred by the alleged
prejudices of those in control. The Parapsychology Associ-
ation itself, due to a fine irony, had also barred some rep-
utable researchers from membership in its own ranks for
the very same reasons. But the dam burst, and parapsy-
chology became an accepted subject within the American
Association for the Advancement of Science. The
researchers were also invited to join. My own New York
Committee for the Investigation of Paranormal Occur-
rences, founded in 1962 under the sponsorship of Eileen
Garrett, president of the Parapsychology Foundation, Inc.,
is also a member of the American Association for the
Advancement of Science.

In his article, Professor McConnell points out the fal-
libility of certain textbooks considered to be bulwarks of
scientific knowledge. He reminds his audience that until
the year 1800 the highest scientific authorities thought that
there were no such things as meteorites. Then the leaders

CHAPTER THREE: Ghosts and the
World of the Living

of science found out that meteorites came from outer space,
and the textbooks were rewritten accordingly. What dis-
turbs Professor McConnell is that the revised textbooks did
not mention that there had been an argument about the
matter. He wonders how many arguments are still going on
in science and how many serious mistakes are in the text-
books we use for study. In his opinion, we ought to believe
only one half of the ideas expressed in the works on biolog-
ical sciences, although he is not sure which half. In his
view, ESP belongs in psychology, one of the biological sci-
ences. He feels that when it comes to ESP, so-called author-
ities are in error. McConnell points out that most
psychology textbooks omit the subject entirely as unworthy
of serious consideration. But in his opinion, the books are
wrong, for ESP is a real psychological phenomenon. He also
shows that the majority of those doing serious research in
ESP are not psychologists, and deduces from this and the
usual textbook treatment of the subject as well as from his
own sources that psychologists are simply not interested
in ESP.

* * *

L. C. Kling, M.D., is a psychiatrist living in Stras-
bourg, France. He writes in German and has published
occasional papers dealing with his profession. Most psychi-
atrists and psychoanalysts who base their work upon the
findings of Sigmund Freud, balk at the idea that Dr. Freud
had any interest in psychic phenomena or ESP. But the fact
is — and Dr. Kling points this out in an article published in
1966 — that Freud had many encounters with paranormal
phenomena. When he was sixty-five years old he wrote to
American researcher Herewood Carrington: "If I had to
start my life over again I would rather be a parapsycholo-
gist than a psychoanalyst.” And toward the end of his life
he confessed to his biographer E. Jones that he would not
hesitate to bring upon himself the hostility of the profes-
sional world in order to champion an unpopular point of
view. What made him say this was a particularly convinc-
ing case of telepathy that he had come across.

* * *

In June of 1966 the German physicist Dr. Werner
Schiebeler gave a lecture concerning his findings on the
subject of physical research methods applicable to parapsy-
chology. The occasion was the conference on parapsychol-
ogy held at the city of Constance in Germany. Dr.

Schiebeler, who is as well versed in atomic physics as he is
in parapsychology, suggested that memory banks from
deceased entities could be established independently of
physical brain matter. “If during seances entities, phan-
toms, or spirits of the deceased appear that have been iden-
tified beyond a shadow of a doubt to be the people they
pretend to be, they must be regarded as something more
than images of the dead. Otherwise we would have to con-
sider people in the physical life whom we have not seen for
some time and encounter again today as merely copies of a

former existence.” Dr. Schiebeler goes on to say that in his
opinion parapsychology has furnished definite proof for the
continuance of life beyond physical death.

This detailed and very important paper was presented
in written form to the eminent German parapsychologist
Dr. Hans Bender, head of the Institute of Borderline Sci-
ences at the University of Freiburg, Germany. Since it con-
tained strong evidence of a survivalist nature, and since Dr.
Bender has declared himself categorically opposed to the
concept of personal survival after death, the paper remains
unanswered, and Dr. Schiebeler was unable to get any
response from the institute.

* * *

Despite the fact that several leading universities are
doing around-the-clock research on ESP, there are still those
who wish it weren’t so. Dr. Walter Alvarez writes in the
Los Angeles Times of January 23, 1 972, "In a recent issue of
the medical journal M.D., there was an interesting article
on a subject that interests many physicians and patients.

Do mediums really make contact with a dead person at a
seance?” He then goes on to quote an accusation of fraudu-
lence against the famous Fox sisters, who first brought
spirit rappings to public attention in 1848. “Curiously, a
number of very able persons have accepted the reality of
spiritualism and some have been very much interested in
what goes on in seances,” Dr. Alvarez reports. Carefully,
he points out the few and better -known cases of alleged
fraud among world-famous mediums, such as Eusepia Pal-
ladino, omitting the fact that the Italian medium had been
highly authentic to the very end and that fakery had never
been conclusively proven in her case. There isn’t a single
word about Professor Rhine or any research in the field of
parapsychology in this article.

Perhaps not on the same level, but certainly with
even greater popular appeal, is a “Dear Abby” reply
printed by the same Los Angeles Times in November 5,
1969, concerning an inquiry from a reader on how to find a
reputable medium to help her get in touch with her dead
husband. To this “Dear Abby" replied, “Many have
claimed they can communicate with the dead, but so far no
one has been able to prove it.”

* * *

Perhaps one can forgive such uninformed people for
their negative attitude toward psychic phenomena if one
looks at some of the less desirable practices that have been
multiplying in the field lately. Take, for instance, the pub-
lisher of Penthouse magazine, an English competitor to our
own Playboy. A prize of £25,000 was to be paid to anyone
producing paranormal phenomena under test conditions. A
panel consisting of Sir George Joy, Society for Psychical
Research, Professor H. H. Price, Canon John Pearce -
Higgins, and leading psychical researcher Mrs. Kathleen
Goldney resigned in protest when they took a good look at

the pages of the magazine and discovered that it was more
concerned with bodies than with spirits.

The Psychic Register International, of Phoenix, Ari-
zona, proclaims its willingness to list everyone in the field
so that they may present to the world a Who’s Who in the
Psychic World. A parapsychology guidance institute in St.
Petersburg, Florida, advised me that it is preparing a bibli-
ography of technical books in the field of parapsychology.
The Institute of Psychic Studies of Parkersburg, West
Virginia, claimed that “for the first time in the United
States a college of psychic studies entirely dedicated to
parapsychology offering a two-year course leading to a doc-
torate in psychic sciences is being opened and will be cen-
trally located in West Virginia.” The list of courses of
study sounded very impressive and included three credits
for the mind (study of the brain), background of parapsy-
chology (three credits), and such fascinating things as
magic in speech (three credits), explaining superstitions
attributed to magic; and the secrets of prestidigitation. The
list of courses was heavily studded with grammatical errors
and misspellings. Psychic Dimensions Incorporated of New
York City, according to an article in The New York Times,
no less, on December 4, 1970, “has got it all together," the
“all” meaning individual astrologists, graphologists, occa-
sional palmists, psychometrists, and those astute in the
reading of tarot cards. According to Lisa Hammel, writer
of the article, the founder of the booking a*gency, William J.
Danielle, has “about 150 metaphysical personalities
under his wing and is ready to book for a variety of occa-
sions.” The master of this enterprise explains, “I had to
create an entertainment situation because people will not
listen to facts.” Mr. Danielle originally started with a
memorable event called “Breakfast with a Witch” starring
none other than Witch Hazel, a pretty young waitress from
New Jersey who has established her claim to witchcraft on
various public occasions.

* * *

“Six leading authorities on mental telepathy, psychic
experiences and metaphysics will conduct a panel discus-
sion on extrasensory perception,” said the New York Daily
News on January 24, 1971 . The meeting was being held
under the auspices of the Society for the Study of Parapsy-
chology and Metaphysics. As if that name were not
impressive enough, there is even a subdivision entitled the
National Committee for the Study of Metaphysical Sci-
ences. It turned out that the experts were indeed authorities
in their respective fields. They included Dr. Gertrude
Schmeidler of City College, New York, and well-known
psychic Ron Warmoth. A colleague of mine, Raymond
Van Over of Hofstra University, was also aboard.

Although I heard nothing further of the Society for the
Study of Parapsychology and Metaphysics, it seemed like a
reputable organization, or rather attempt at an organization.

Ghosts and the World of the Living

Until then about the only reputable organization known to
most individuals interested in the study of ESP was, and is,
of course, the American Society for Psychical Research
located at 5 West Seventy-third Street in New York City.
But the society, originally founded by Dr. J. Hislop, has
become rather conservative. It rarely publishes any contro-
versial findings any more. Its magazine is extremely techni-
cal and likely to discourage the beginning student.
Fortunately, however, it also publishes the ASPR Newsletter,
which is somewhat more democratic and popularly styled.
The society still ignores parapsychologists who do not con-
form to their standards, especially people like myself, who
frequently appear on television and make definite state-
ments on psychic matters that the society would rather
leave in balance. Many of the legacies that help support the
American Society for Psychical Research were given in the
hope that the society might establish some definite proof
for survival of human personality after death and for
answers to other important scientific questions. If
researchers such as I proclaim such matters to be already
proven, there would seem to be little left for the society to
prove in the future. But individual leaders of the society
are more outspoken in their views. Dr. Gardner Murphy,
long-time president of the society and formerly connected
with the Menninger Foundation, observed, “If there was
one tenth of the evidence in any other field of science than
there is in parapsychology, it would be accepted beyond
question.” Dr. Lawrence L. Le Shan, Ph.D., writer and
investigator, says:

Parapsychology is far more than it appears to be on
first glance. In the most profound sense it is the study
of the basic nature of man — There is more to man,
more to him and his relationship with the cosmos than
we have accepted. Further, this ’more’ is of a different
kind and order from the parts we know about. We have
the data and they are strong and clear but they could
not exist if man were only what we have believed him to
be. If he were only flesh and bone, if he worked on the
same type of principles as a machine, if he were really as
separated from other men as we have thought, it would
be impossible for him to do the things we know he
sometimes does. The ’impossible facts’ of ESP tell us of
a part of man long hidden in the mists of legend, art,
dream, myth and mysticism, which our explorers of
reality in the last ninety years have demonstrated to be
scientifically valid, to be real.

* * *

While the bickering between those accepting the real-
ity of ESP phenomena and those categorically rejecting it
was still occurring in the United States, the Russians came
up with a startling coup: They went into the field whole-
sale. At this time there are at least eight major universities in
Eastern Europe with full-time, full-staffed research centers

CHAPTER THREE: Ghosts and the
World of the Living

in parapsychology. What is more, there are no restrictions
placed upon those working in this field, and they are
free to publish anything they like. This came as rather a
shock to the American scientific establishment. In her
review of the amazing book by Sheila Ostrander and Lynn
Schroeder, Psychic Discoveries Behind the Iron Curtain, Dr.
Thelma Moss said, “If the validity of their statements is
proved, then the American scientist is faced with the mag-
nificent irony that in 1970 Soviet materialistic science has
pulled off a coup in the field of occult phenomena equal to
that of Sputnik rising into space in 1957.”

It would appear that the Russians are years ahead of
us in applying techniques of ESP to practical use. Allegedly,
they have learned to use hypnosis at a distance, they have
shown us photographs of experiments in psychokinesis, the
moving of objects by mental powers alone, and even in
Kirilian photography, which shows the life-force fields
around living things. Nat Freedland, reviewing the book
for the Los Angeles Times, said:

Scientists in Eastern Europe have been succeeding
with astonishingly far-reaching parapsychology experi-
ments for years. The scope of what countries like Rus-
sia, Czechoslovakia, and even little Bulgaria have
accomplished in controlled scientific psychokinesis (PSI)
experiments makes the western brand of ESP look
namby-pamby indeed. Instead of piddling around end-
lessly with decks of cards and dice like Dr. J. B. Rhine
of Duke University, Soviet scientists put one telepathi-
cally talented experimenter in Moscow and another in
Siberia twelve hundred miles away.”

Shortly afterward, the newspapers were filled with
articles dealing with the Russians and their telepaths or
experimenters. Word had it that in Russia there was a
woman who was possessed of bioplasmic energy and who
could move objects by mental concentration. This woman,
Nina Kulagina, was photographed doing just that. William
Rice, science writer for the Daily News, asked his readers,
“Do you have ESP? It’s hard to prove, but hard to deny.”
The piece itself is the usual hodgepodge of information and
conjecture, but it shows how much the interest in ESP had
grown in the United States. Of course, in going behind the
Iron Curtain to explore the realms of parapsychology,

Sheila Ostrander and Lynn Schroeder did not exactly tread
on virgin territory. Those active in the field of parapsychol-
ogy in the United States had long been familiar with the
work of Professor L. Vasiliev. The Russian scientist’s
books are standard fare in this field. Dr. I. M. Kogan,
chairman of the Investigation Commission of Russian Sci-
entists dealing with ESP, is quoted as saying that he
believes “many people have the ability to receive and trans-
mit telepathic information, but the faculty is undeveloped.”

* * *

And what was being done on the American side dur-
ing the time the Russians were developing their parapsy-

chology laboratories and their teams of observers? Mae
West gave a magnificent party at her palatial estate in Hol-
lywood during which her favorite psychic, “Dr.” Richard
Ireland, the psychic from Phoenix, performed what the
guests referred to as amazing feats. Make no mistake about
it, Mae West is serious about her interest in parapsycholo-
gy. She even lectured on the subject some time ago at a
university. But predicting the future for invited guests and
charming them at the same time is a far cry from setting
up a sober institute for parapsychology where the subject
can be dealt with objectively and around the clock.

On a more practical level, controversial Dutchman
Peter Hurkos, who fell off a ladder and discovered his tele-
phatic abilities some years back, was called in to help the
police to find clues when the Tate murder was in the head-
lines. Hurkos did describe one of the raiders as bearded
and felt that there were overtones of witchcraft in the
assault. About that time, also, Bishop James Pike told the
world in headline-making news conferences that he had
spoken to his dead son through various mediums. “There
is enough scientific evidence to give plausible affirmation
that the human personality survives the grave. It is the
most plausible explanation of the phenomena that
occurred,” Bishop Pike is quoted.

Over in Britain, Rosemary Brown was getting mes-
sages from dead composers, including such kingpins as
Beethoven, Chopin, Schubert, and Debussy. Her sym-
phonies, attributed to her ESP capabilities, have even been
recorded. When I first heard about the amazing Miss
Brown, I was inclined to dismiss the matter unless some
private, as yet unpublished, information about the personal
lives of the dead composers was also brought out by the
medium. Apparently, this is what happened in the course
of time and continued investigations. I have never met
Miss Brown, but one of the investigators sent to Britain to
look into the case was a man whom I knew well, Stewart
Robb, who had the advantage of being both a parapsychol-
ogist and a music expert. It is his opinion that the Rose-
mary Brown phenomenon is indeed genuine, but Miss
Brown is by no means the only musical medium. Accord-
ing to the National Enquirer, British medium Leslie Flint,
together with two friends, Sydney Woods and Mrs. Betty
Greene, claimed to have captured on tape the voices of
more than two hundred famous personalities, including
Frederic Chopin and Oscar Wilde.

A RIFT EMERGES

Gradually, however, the cleavage between an occult, or
mystical, emotionally tinged form of inquiry into psychic
phenomena, and the purely scientific, clinically oriented
way becomes more apparent. That is not to say that both
methods will not eventually merge into one single quest for
truth.

Only by using all avenues of approach to a problem
can we truly accomplish its solution. However, it seems to

me that at a time when so many people are becoming
acquainted with the occult and parapsychology in general,
that it is very necessary that one make a clear distinction
between a tea-room reader and a professor of parapsychol-
ogy, between a person who has studied psychical phenome-
na for twenty -five years and has all the necessary
academic credits and a Johnny-come-lately who has crept
out of the woodwork of opportunism to start his own
“research” center or society.

Those who sincerely seek information in this field
should question the credentials of those who give answers;
well-known names are always preferable to names one has
never heard before. Researchers with academic credentials
or affiliations are more likely to be trusted than those who
offer merely paper doctorates fresh from the printing press.
Lastly, psychic readers purporting to be great prophets
must be examined at face value — on the basis of their
accomplishments in each individual case, not upon their
self-proclaimed reputation. With all that in mind and with
due caution, it is still heartwarming to find so many sincere
and serious people dedicating themselves more and more to
the field parapsychology and making scientific inquiry into
what seems to me one of the most fascinating areas of
human endeavor. Ever since the late Sir Oliver Lodge pro-
claimed, “Psychic research is the most important field in
the world today, by far the most important,” I have felt
quite the same way.

PSYCHIC PHOTOGRAPHY

At Washington University, St. Louis, Missouri, a dedi-
cated group of researchers with no funds to speak of has
been trying to delve into the mystery of psychic photogra-
phy. Following in the footsteps of Dr. Jules Eisenbud of
the University of Colorado, and my own work Psychic Pho-
tography— Threshold of a New Science?, this group, under
the aegis of the Department of Physics at the university, is
attempting to "produce psychic photographs with some
regularity under many kinds of situations.” The group feels
that since Ted Serios discovered his ability in this field by
accident, others might have similar abilities. “Only when
we have found a good subject can the real work of investi-
gating the nature of psychic photography begin,” they
explain. The fact that people associated with a department
of physics at a major American university even speak of
investigating psychic photography scientifically is so much
of a novelty, considering the slurs heaped upon this subject
for so many years by the majority of establishment scien-
tists, that one can only hope that a new age of unbiased
science is indeed dawning upon us.

Ghosts and the World of the Living

MIND CONTROL & THE ALPHA STATE

Stanley Korn of Maryland has a degree in physics and has
done graduate work in mathematics, statistics, and psychol-
ogy; he works in the Navy as an operations research ana-
lyst. Through newspaper advertisements he discovered the
Silva Mind Control Course and took it, becoming
acquainted with Silva’s approach, including the awareness
of the alpha state of brain- wave activity, which is associ-
ated with increased problem-solving ability and, of course,
ESP. "What induced me to take the course was the rather
astonishing claim made by the lecturer that everyone taking
the course would be able to function psychically to his own
satisfaction or get his money back. This I had to see,” Mr.
Korn explained. Describing the Silva Method, which incor-
porates some of the elements of diagnosis developed by the
late Edgar Cayce but combines it with newer techniques
and what, for want of a better term, we call traveling clair-
voyance, Mr. Korn learned that psychic activities are not
necessarily limited to diagnosing health cases, but can also
be employed in psychometry, the location of missing
objects and persons, even the location of malfunctions in
automobiles. "After seeing convincing evidence for the
existence of psi, and experiencing the phenomenon myself,

I naturally wanted to know the underlying principles gov-
erning its operation. To date, I have been unable to
account for the psychic transmission of information by any
of the known forms of energy, such as radio waves. The
phenomena can be demonstrated at will, making controlled
experiments feasible.”

THE APPARATUS

But the mind-control approach is by no means the only
new thing in the search for awareness and full use of ESP
powers in man. People working in the field of physics are
used to apparatus, to test equipment, to physical tools.

Some of these people have become interested in the mar-
ginal areas of parapsychology and ESP research, and hope to
contribute some new mechanical gadget to the field.
According to the magazine Purchasing Week, new devices
utilizing infrared light to pinpoint the location of an other-
wise unseen intruder by the heat radiating from his body
have been developed. On August 17, 1970, Time magazine,
in its science section headlines, “Thermography: Coloring
with Heat.” The magazine explained that

[I]nfrared detectors are providing stunning images that
were once totally invisible to the naked eye. The new
medium is called color thermography, the technique of
translating heat rays into color. Unlike ordinary color
photographs, which depend on reflected visible light,
thermograms or heat pictures respond only to the tem-
perature of the subject. Thus the thermographic camera

CHAPTER THREE: Ghosts and the
World of the Living

can work with equal facility in the dark or light. The
camera’s extraordinary capability is built around a char-
acteristic of all objects, living or inanimate. Because their
atoms are constantly in motion, they give off some
degree of heat or infrared radiation. If the temperature
rises high enough, the radiation may become visible to
the human eye, as in the red glow of a blast furnace.
Ordinarily, the heat emissions remain locked in the
invisible range of infrared light.

It is clear that such equipment can be of great help in
examining so-called haunted houses, psychically active
areas, or psychometric objects; in other words, it can be
called upon to step in where the naked eye cannot help, or
where ordinary photography discloses nothing unusual.
The magazine Electronics World of April 1970, in an article
by L. George Lawrence entitled “Electronics and Parapsy-
chology,” says,

One of the most intriguing things to emerge in that area
is the now famous Backster Effect. Since living plants
seem to react bioelectrically to thought images directed
to their over-all well-being, New Jersey cytologist Dr.

H. Miller thinks that the phenomenon is based upon a
type of cellular consciousness. These and related considera-
tions lead to the idea that psi is but a part of a so-called
paranormal matrix — a unique communications grid
that binds all life together. Its phenomena apparently
work on a multi-input basis which operates beyond the
known physical laws.

Lanston Monotype Company of Philadelphia, Penn-
sylvania, manufactures photomechanical apparatus and has
done some work in the ESP field. The company attempted
to develop testing equipment of use to parapsychologists.
Superior Vending Company of Brockton, Massachusetts,
through its design engineer, R. K. Golka, offered me a look
into the matter of a newly developed image intensifier tube
developed for possible use in a portable television camera
capable of picking up the fine imprints left behind in the
atmosphere of haunted areas. “The basic function of this
tube is to intensify and pick up weak images picked up by
the television camera. These are images that would other-
wise not be seen or that would go unnoticed,” the engineer
explained. Two years later, Mr. Golka, who had by then
set up his own company of electronic consultants, sug-
gested experiments with spontaneous ionization. “If energy
put into the atmosphere could be coupled properly with the
surrounding medium, air, then huge amounts of ionization
could result. If there were a combination of frequency and
wave length that would remove many of the electron shells
of the common elements of our atmosphere, that too would
be of great scientific value. Of course, the electrons would
fall back at random so there would be shells producing
white light or fluorescence. This may be similar to the
flashes of light seen by people in a so-called haunted house.
In any event, if this could be done by the output of very
small energies such as those coming from the human brain

of microvolt and microamp range, it would be quite signif-
icant.” Mr. Golka responded to my suggestion that ioniza-
tion of the air accompanied many of the psychic
phenomena where visual manifestations had been observed.
I have held that a change occurs in the atmosphere when
psychic energies are present, and that the change includes
ionization of the surrounding air or ether. “Some of the
things you have mentioned over the years seem to fit into
this puzzle. I don't know if science has all the pieces yet,
but I feel we have a good handful to work with,” Mr.

Golka concluded in his suggestions to me. Since that time
some progress has been made in the exploration of percep-
tion by plants, and the influence of human emotions on the
growth of plants. Those seeking scientific data on these
experiments may wish to examine Cleve Backster’s report
"Evidence of a Primary Perception in Plant Life” in the
International Journal of Parapsychology, Volume X, 1968.
Backster maintains a research foundation at 165 West
Forty -sixth Street in New York City.

* * *

Dr. Harry E. Stockman is head of Sercolab in Arling-
ton, Massachusetts, specializing in apparatus in the fields
of physics, electronics, and the medical profession. The
company issues regular catalogues of their various devices,
which range from simple classroom equipment to highly
sophisticated research apparatus. The company, located at
P.O. Box 78, Arlington, Massachusetts, has been in busi-
ness for over twenty years. One prospectus of their labora-
tory states:

In the case of mind-over-matter parapsychology psy-
chokinetic apparatus, our guarantee applies only in that
the apparatus will operate as stated in the hands of an
accomplished sensitive. Sercolab would not gamble its
scientific reputation for the good reason that mind-over-
matter is a proven scientific fact. It is so today thanks to
the amazing breakthrough by Georgia State University;
this breakthrough does not merely consist of the stun-
ning performance of some students to be able to move a
magnetic needle at a distance. The breakthrough is far
greater than that. It consists of Georgia State University
having devised a systematic teaching technique, enabling
some students in the class to operate a magnetic needle
by psychokinesis force.

Obviously, science and ESP are merely casual
acquaintances at the present time. Many members of the
family are still looking askance at this new member of the
community. They wish it would simply go away and not
bother them. But parapsychology, the study of ESP, is here
to stay. ESP research may be contrary to many established
scientific laws and its methodology differs greatly from
established practices. But it is a valid force; it exists in
every sense of the term; and it must be studied fully in
order to make science an honest field in the coming age.
Anything less will lead scientific inquiry back to medieval
thinking, back into the narrow channels of prejudice and

severely limited fields of study. In the future, only a thor-
ough re-examination of the scientific position on ESP in
general will yield greater knowledge on the subject.

The notion still persists among large segments of the
population that ESP is a subject suitable only for very spe-
cial people: the weird fringe, some far-out scientists per-
haps, or those young people who are "into” the occult.
Under no circumstances is it something respectable average
citizens get involved with. An interest in ESP simply does
not stand up alongside such interests as music, sports, or
the arts. Anyone professing an interest in ESP is automati-
cally classified as an oddball. This attitude is more pro-
nounced in small towns than it is in sophisticated cities like
New York, but until recently, at least, the notion that ESP
might be a subject for average people on a broad basis was
alien to the public mind.

During that last few years, however, this attitude has
shifted remarkably. More and more, people discussing the
subject of extrasensory perception are welcomed in social
circles as unusual people; and they become centers of
attraction. Especially among the young, bringing up the
subject of ESP almost guarantees one immediate friends.
True, eyebrows are still raised among older people, espe-
cially business people or those in government, when ESP is
mentioned as a serious subject matter. Occasionally one
still hears the comment “You don’t really believe in that
stuff?” Occasionally, too, people will give you an argument
trying to prove that it is still all a fraud and has “long been
proved to be without substance.” It is remarkable how
some of those avid scoffers quote "authoritative” sources,
which they never identify by name or place. Even Professor
Rhine is frequently pictured as a man who tried to prove
the reality of ESP and failed miserably.

Of course, we must realize that people believe what
they want to believe. If a person is uncomfortable with a
concept, reasons for disbelief will be found even if they are
dragged in out of left field. A well-known way of dismiss-
ing evidence for ESP is to quote only the sources that
espouse a negative point of view. Several authors who
thrive on writing "debunking books,” undoubtedly the
result of the current popularity of the occult subjects, make
it their business to select bibliographies of source material
that contain only the sort of proof they want in light of
their own prejudiced purpose. A balanced bibliography
would, of course, yield different results and would thwart
their efforts to debunk the subject of ESP. Sometimes peo-
ple in official positions will deny the existence of factual
material so as not to be confronted with the evidence, if
that evidence tends to create a public image different from
the one they wish to project.

A good case in point is an incident that occurred on
the Chicago television broadcast emceed by columnist Irv-
ing Kupcinet. Among the guests appearing with me was
Colonel “Shorty” Powers of NASA. I had just remarked that

Ghosts and the World of the Living

tests had been conducted among astronauts to determine
whether they were capable of telepathy once the reaches of
outer space had been entered, in case radio communications
should prove to be inadequate. Colonel Powers rose indig-
nantly, denouncing my statement as false, saying, in effect,
that no tests had been undertaken among astronauts and
that such a program lacked a basis of fact. Fortunately,
however, I had upon me a letter on official NASA sta-
tionery, signed by Dr. M. Koneci, who was at the time
head of that very project.

* * *

The kinds of people who are interested in ESP include
some very strange bedfellows: on the one hand, there are
increasing numbers of scientists delving into the area with
newly designed tools and new methods; on the other hand,
there are lay people in various fields who find ESP a fasci-
nating subject and do not hesitate to admit their interest,
nor do they disguise their belief that it works. Scientists
have had to swallow their pride and discard many cher-
ished theories about life. Those who have been able to do
so, adjusting to the ever-changing pattern of what consti-
tutes scientific proof, have found their studies in ESP the
most rewarding. The late heart specialist Dr. Alexis Carrel
became interested in psychic phenomena, according to
Monroe Fry in an article on ESP that appeared in Esquire
magazine, during his famous experiment that established
the immortality of individual cells in a fragment of chicken
heart.

After he had been working on the problem for years
somebody asked him about his conclusions. "The work
of a scientist is to observe facts,” he said, "what I have
observed are facts troublesome to science. But they are
facts.” Science still knows very little about the human
mind, but researchers are now certain that the mind is
much more powerful and complicated than they have
ever thought it was.

* * *

People accept theories, philosophies, or beliefs largely
on the basis of who supports them, not necessarily on the
facts alone. If a highly regarded individual supports a new
belief, people are likely to follow him. Thus it was some-
thing of a shock to learn, several years after his passing,
that Franklin Delano Roosevelt had frequently sat in
seances during which his late mother, Sarah Delano, had
appeared to him and given him advice in matters of state.

It has quite definitely been established that King George V
of England also attended seances. To this day, the English
royal family is partial to psychical research, although very
little of this is ever published. Less secret is the case of
Canada’s late Prime Minister William Mackenzie King.
According to Life magazine, which devoted several pages to

CHAPTER THREE: Ghosts and the
World of the Living

King, he “was an ardent spiritualist who used mediums,
the ouija board and a crystal ball for guidance in his pri-
vate life.” It is debatable whether this marks King as a
spiritualist or whether he was merely exercising his natural
gift of ESP and an interest in psychical research.

* * *

I myself receive continual testimony that ESP is a fasci-
nating subject to people who would not have thought of
it so a few years ago. Carlton R. Adams, Rear Admiral,
U.S. Navy retired, having read one of my books, contacted
me to discuss my views on reincarnation. John D. Grayson,
associate professor of linguistics at Sir George Williams
University, Montreal, Canada, said, “If I lived in New
York, I should like nothing better than to enroll in your
eight-lecture course on parapsychology.” Gerald S. O’Mor-
row has a doctorate in education and is at Indiana State
University: "I belong to a small development group which
meets weekly and has been doing such for the last two
years.” A lady initialed S. D. writes from California, “I
have been successful in working a ouija board for eight
years on a serious basis and have tried automatic writing
with a small but significant amount of success. I have a
great desire to develop my latent powers but until now I
haven’t known who to go to that I could trust.” The lady’s
profession is that of a police matron with a local police
department.

A. P. gives a remarkable account of ESP experiences
over the past twenty years. His talents include both visual
and auditory phenomena. In reporting his incidents to me,
he asked for an appraisal of his abilities with ESP. By pro-
fession A. P. is a physician, a native of Cuba.

S. B. Barris contacted me for an appraisal of his ESP
development in light of a number of incidents in which he
found himself capable of foretelling the result of a race,
whether or not a customer would conclude the sale he was
hoping for, and several incidents of clairvoyance. Mr. Bar-
ris, in addition to being a salesman in mutual funds, is an
active member of the United States Army Reserves with
the rank of Major.

Stanley R. Dean, M.D., clinical professor of psychia-
try at the University of Florida, is a member of the Ameri-
can Psychiatric Association Task Force on transcultural
psychiatry and the recent coordinator of a symposium at
which a number of parapsychologists spoke.

Curiously enough, the number of people who will
accept the existence of ESP is much larger than the number
of people who believe in spirit survival or the more
advanced forms of occult beliefs. ESP has the aura of the
scientific about it, while, to the average mind at least, sub-
jects including spirit survival, ghosts, reincarnation, and
such seemingly require facets of human acceptance other
than those that are purely scientific. This, at least, is a
widely held conviction. At the basis of this distinction lies
the unquestionable fact that there is a very pronounced dif-
ference between ESP and the more advanced forms of occult

scientific belief. For ESP to work, one need not accept sur-
vival of human personality beyond bodily death. ESP
between the living is as valid as ESP between the living and
the so-called dead. Telepathy works whether one partner is
in the great beyond or not. In fact, a large segment of the
reported phenomena involving clairvoyance can probably
be explained on the basis of simple ESP and need not
involve the intercession of spirits at all. It has always been
debatable whether a medium obtains information about a
client from a spirit source standing by, as it were, in the
wings, or whether the medium obtains this information
from his own unconscious mind, drawing upon extraordi-
nary powers dormant within it. Since the results are the
main concern of the client, it is generally of little impor-
tance whence the information originates. It is, of course,
comforting to think that ESP is merely an extension of the
ordinary five senses as we know them, and can be accepted
without the need for overhauling one’s greater philosophy
of life. The same cannot be said about the acceptance of
spirit communication, reincarnation, and other occult phe-
nomena. Accepting them as realities requires a profound
alteration of the way average people look at life. With ESP,
a scientifically oriented person need only extend the limits
of believability a little, comparing the ESP faculty to radio
waves and himself to a receiving instrument.

So widespread is the interest in ESP research and so
many are the published cases indicating its reality that the
number of out-and-out debunkers has shrunk considerably
during the past years. Some years ago, H. H. Pierce, a
chemist, seriously challenged the findings of Dr. Joseph
Rhine on the grounds that his statistics were false, if not
fraudulent, and that the material proved nothing. No scien-
tist of similar stature has come forth in recent years to
challenge the acceptance of ESP; to the contrary, more and
more universities are devoting entire departments or special
projects to inquiry into the field of ESP. The little debunk-
ing that goes on still is done by inept amateurs trying to
hang on to the coattails of the current occult vogue.

It is only natural to assume that extrasensory percep-
tion has great practical value in crime detection. Though
some law enforcement agencies have used it and are using
it in increasing instances, this does not mean that the
courts will openly admit evidence obtained by psychic
means. However, a psychic may help the authorities solve a
crime by leading them to a criminal or to the missing per-
son. It is then up to the police or other agency to establish
the facts by conventional means that will stand up in a
court of law. Without guidance from the psychic, however,
the authorities might still be in the dark.

One of the best-known psychic persons to help the
police and the FBI was the late Florence Sternfels, the great
psychometrist. Her other talent, however, was police work.
She would pick up a trail from such meager clues as an
object belonging to the missing person, or even merely by
being asked whatever happened to so-and-so. Of course,
she had no access to any information about the case, nor

was she ever told afterwards how the case ended. The
police like to come to psychics for help, but once they have
gotten what they’ve come for, they are reluctant to keep
the psychic informed of the progress they have made
because of the leads provided. They are even more reluc-
tant to admit that a psychic has helped them. This can
take on preposterous proportions.

The Dutch psychic Peter Hurkos, whose help was
sought by the Boston police in the case of the Boston
Strangler, was indeed able to describe in great detail what
the killer looked like.

Hurkos came to Boston to help the authorities but
soon found himself in the middle of a power play between
the Boston police and the Massachusetts Attorney General.
The police had close ties to Boston’s Democratic machine,
and the Attorney General was a Republican. Hurkos, even
worse, was a foreigner.

When the newspapers splashed the psychic’s success-
ful tracing of the killer all over the front pages, something
within the police department snapped. Hurkos, sure he had
picked the right suspect, returned to New York, his job
done. The following morning he was arrested on the charge
of having impersonated an FBI man several months before.
He had allegedly said as much to a gas station attendant
and shown him some credentials. This happened when the
gas station man noticed some rifles in Hurkos ’s car. The
“credentials” were honorary police cards which many grate-
ful police chiefs had given the psychic for his aid. Hurkos,
whose English was fragmentary — for that matter, his
Dutch might not be good, since he was only a house
painter before he turned psychic — said something to the
effect that he worked with the FBI, which was perfectly
true. To a foreigner, the difference between such a state-
ment and an assertion of being an FBI man is negligible
and perhaps even unimportant.

Those in the know realized that Hurkos was being
framed, and some papers said so immediately. Then the
Attorney General’s office picked up another suspect, who
practically matched the first one in appearance, weight,
height. Which man did the killing? But Hurkos had done
his job well. He had pointed out the places where victims
had been found and he had described the killer. And what
did it bring him for his troubles, beyond a modest fee of
$1,000? Only trouble and embarrassment.

Florence Sternfels was more fortunate in her police
contacts. One of her best cases concerns the FBI. During
the early part of World War II, she strongly felt that the
Iona Island powder depot would be blown up by saboteurs.
She had trouble getting to the right person, of course, but
eventually she succeeded, and the detonation was headed
off just in the nick of time. During the ten years I knew
and sometimes worked with her, Sternfels was consulted in
dozens of cases of mysterious disappearances and missing
persons. In one instance, she was flown to Colorado to help

Ghosts and the World of the Living

local law officers track down a murderer. Never frightened,
she saw the captured man a day or two later. Incidentally,
she never charged a penny for this work with the
authorities.

The well-known Dutch clairvoyant Gerard Croiset
has worked with the police in Holland on a number of
cases of murder or disappearance. In the United States,
Croiset attempted to solve the almost legendary disappear-
ance of Judge Crater with the help of his biographer, Jack
Harrison Pollack. Although Croiset succeeded in adding
new material, Pollack was not able to actually find the
bones in the spot indicated by Croiset through the use of
clairvoyance. However, Croiset was of considerable help in
the case of three murdered civil rights workers. He sup-
plied, again through Jack Pollack, a number of clues and
pieces of information as to where the bodies would be
found, who the murderers were, and how the crime had
been committed, at a time when the question of whether
they were even dead or not had not yet been resolved!

Croiset sees in pictures rather than words or sen-
tences. He need not be present at the scene of a crime to
get impressions, but holding an object belonging to the
person whose fate he is to fathom helps him.

What do the police think of this kind of help?

Officially, they do not like to say they use it, but
unofficially, why that’s another matter. When I worked on
the Serge Rubinstein case a year after the financier’s
murder — when it was as much a mystery as it is, at least
officially, today — I naturally turned over to the New York
police every scrap of information I obtained. The medium
in this case was Mrs. Ethel Meyers, and the evidence was
indeed remarkable. Rubinstein’s mother was present during
the trance session, and readily identified the voice coming
from the entranced psychic’s lips as that of her murdered
son. Moreover, certain peculiar turns of language were used
that were characteristic of the deceased. None of this was
known to the medium or to myself at the time.

As we sat in the very spot where the tragic event had
taken place, the restless spirit of Serge Rubinstein
requested revenge, of course, and named names and cir-
cumstances of his demise. In subsequent sittings, additional
information was given, safe deposit box numbers were
named, and all sorts of detailed business, obtained; but, for
reasons unknown, the police did not act on this, perhaps
because it hardly stands up in a court of law. The guilty
parties were well known, partly as a result of ordinary
police work, and partly from our memos and transcriptions,
but to make the accusation stick would prove difficult.
Then, after Rubinstein’s mother died, the case slid back
into the gray world of forgotten, unsolved crimes.

* * *

CHAPTER THREE: Ghosts and the
World of the Living

Some police officers, at least, do not hesitate to speak
up, however, and freely admit the importance of ESP in
their work. On October 9, 1964, Lieutenant John J. Cronin
gave an interview to the New York journal- American’s
William McFadden, in which he made his experiences with
ESP known. This is what the reporter wrote:

In the not too distant future, every police department
in the land will have extra-sensory perception con-
sultants, perhaps even extra-sensory perception bureaus,

New York Police Lt. John J. Cronin said today.

For 18 years — longer than any other man in the his-
tory of the department — he headed the Missing Persons
Bureau.

“After I retire, I might write a book on ESP," he
said. “It has provided much information on police cases
that is accurate."

One of the fantastic cases he cited was that of a 10-
year-old Baltimore girl who was missing last July.

A Baltimore police sergeant visited Mrs. Florence
Sternfels of Edgewater, N.J., who calls herself a psy-
chometrist. On her advice, when he got back to Balti-
more he dug in a neighbor’s cellar. The body of the girl
was found two feet under the dirt floor.

Lt. Cronin also noted that Gerard Croiset, the Dutch
clairvoyant, is credited with finding 400 missing
children.

“Right now, ESP is a hit and miss proposition. It’s in
an elementary stage, the stage electricity was in when
Ben Franklin flew his kite," Lt. Cronin said.

“But it does exist. It is a kind of sixth sense that
primitive man possessed but has been lost through the
ages. It’s not supernatural, mind you. And it will be the
method of the future.

“Once it is gotten into scientific shape, it will help
law enforcement agencies solve certain crimes that have
been baffling them. ”

Stressing that ESP will grow in police use, he said:

“In Europe some of the ESP people have been qualified
to give testimony in court. It will come here, too."

More specific and illustrative of the methods used by
psychics in helping solve crimes is a column devoted to a
case in Washington State, written by Michael MacDougall
for the Long Island Press of May 3, 1964, in which he sug-
gests that someone with ESP should be on the staff of every
police department in order to help solve difficult crimes.
MacDougall makes a very strong case for his conviction in
his report on a case that took place a month earlier.

DeMille, the famous mentalist currently touring for
the Associated Executives Clubs, checked into the Chi-
nook Hotel in Yakima, Wash., at 2 P.M. on Friday,

April 3. He was tired, and intended to shower and sleep
before that evening’s lecture. But hardly had he turned
the key in the lock when the phone rang.

It was a woman calling. "My friend has had her wal-
let stolen,” the feminine voice said. “It contained several
articles of sentimental value which she would like to
recover. Can you help her find it?"

"Perhaps," said DeMille. "I’ll do my best. But you'll
have to wait until after my speech. Call me about ten-
thirty.”

DeMille hung up, tumbled into bed. But he couldn’t
sleep. The thought of that stolen wallet kept intruding.

Then, just on the edge of unconsciousness, when one is
neither asleep nor awake, he envisioned the crime.

Two teen-age boys, one wearing a red sweater, stole
up behind a woman shopper. One stepped in front,
diverting her attention, while his partner gently unfastened
her handbag, removed the wallet, and scampered
around the corner, to be joined later by his confederate.

DeMille saw more. The boys got into a beat-up
Ford. They drove away, parked briefly in front of a
used car lot. Opening the wallet, they took out a roll of
bills, which were divided evenly. DeMille wasn't sure of
the count but thought it was $46. Then the boys exam-
ined a checkbook. DeMille saw the number 2798301 ,
and the legend: First National Bank of Washington. He
also received an impression that it was some kind of a
meat-packing firm.

Now fully awake, DeMille phoned K. Gordon Smith,
secretary of the Knife and Fork Club, the organization
for which DeMille was speaking that night. The secretary
came up to DeMille’s room, listened to the story,
and advised calling the police.

Soon DeMille had callers. One introduced himself as
Frank Gayman, a reporter for the Yakima Herald. The
other was Sergeant Walt Dutcher, of the Yakima Police.

Again DeMille told his story. Gayman was skeptical but
willing to be convinced. The sergeant was totally disbe-
lieving and openly hostile.

DeMille suggested they call the First National Bank
and find out if a meat-packing company had a checking
account numbered 2798301 . Then it would be easy to
call the company and discover whether or not any
female employee had been robbed.

The report was negative. Account #2798301 was not
a meat-picking company. In fact, the bank had no meat
packers as customers. Fruit packers, yes; meat packers,
no.

Sergeant Dutcher, after threatening DeMille with
arrest for turning in a false crime report, stamped out of
the room. Frank Gayman, still willing to be convinced,
remained. The phone rang again. It was for Gayman;
the bank was calling.

There was an account numbered 2798001 carried by
Club Scout Pack #3. Could this be the one? Immediately,
DeMille knew that it was.

The president of the Knife and Fork Club, one Karl
Steinhilb, volunteered to drive DeMille about the city.
Following the mentalist’s directions, Steinhilb drove to
an outlying section, parked in front of a used car lot.

And sure enough, in the bushes fronting a nearby house
they found the discarded wallet.

The Yakima Police Department was not quite the
same after that.

The cases of cooperation between psychics or psychic
researchers and police departments are becoming more
numerous as time goes on and less prejudice remains
toward the use of such persons in law enforcement.

In July, 1965, the Austin, Texas, police used the ser-
vices of a Dallas psychic in the case of two missing
University of Texas girls, who were much later found
murdered. At the time of the consultation, however, one
week after the girls had disappeared, she predicted that the
girls would be found within twenty-four hours, which they
weren’t, and that three men were involved, which proved
true.

But then the time element is often a risky thing with
predictions. Time is one of the dimensions that is least
capable of being read correctly by many psychics. This of
course may be due to the fact that time is an arbitrary and
perhaps even artificial element introduced by man to make
life more livable; in the nonphysical world, it simply does
not exist. Thus when a psychic looks into the world of the
mind and then tries to interpret the conditions he or she is
impressed with, the time element is often wrong. It is
based mainly on the psychic’s own interpretation, not on a
solid image, as is the case with facts, names, and places
that he or she might describe.

One of the institutes of learning specializing in work
with clairvoyants that cooperate with police authorities is
the University of Utrecht, Netherlands, where Dr. W. H.
C. Tenhaeff is the head of the Parapsychology Institute.
Between 1950 and 1960 alone, the Institute studied over 40
psychics, including 26 men and 21 women, according to
author-researcher Jack Harrison Pollack, who visited the
Institute in 1960 and wrote a glowing report on its activi-
ties.

Pollack wrote a popular book about Croiset, who was
the Institute’s star psychic and who started out as an ordi-
nary grocer until he discovered his unusual gift and put it
to professional use, especially after he met Dr. Tenhaeff in
1964.

But Croiset is only one of the people who was tested
in the Dutch research center. Others are Warner Tholen,
whose specialty is locating missing objects, and Pierre van
Delzen, who can put his hands on a globe and predict con-
ditions in that part of the world.

The University of Utrecht is, in this respect, far
ahead of other places of learning. In the United States, Dr.
Joseph B. Rhine has made a brilliant initial effort, but
today Duke University’s parapsychology laboratory is
doing little to advance research in ESP beyond repeat
experiments and cautious, very cautious, theorizing on the
nature of man. There is practically no field work being
done outside the laboratory, and no American university is
in the position, either financially or in terms of staff, to
work with such brilliant psychics as does Dr. Tenhaeff in
Holland.

For a country that has more per-capita crime than
any other, one would expect that the police would welcome
all the help they could get.

Ghosts and the World of the Living

In the following pages you will read about true cases
of hauntings, encounters with ghosts and apparitions of
spirits, all of which have been fully documented and wit-
nessed by responsible people. To experience these phenom-
ena, you need not be a true "medium,” though the line
between merely having ESP or being psychic with full
mediumship, which involves clairvoyance (seeing things),

clairaudience (hearing things), and/or clairsentience
(smelling or feeling things), is rather vague at times. It is
all a matter of degree, and some people partake of more
than one “phase” or form of psychic ability. Regardless of
which sensitivity applies to your situation, they are natural
and need not be feared.

CHAPTER THREE: Ghosts and the
World of the Living

CHAPTER FOUR

What Exactly
Is a Ghost?

FROM CLOSED-MINDED SKEPTICS to uninformed would-be believers, from Hollywood horror

movies to Caspar the Ghost, there is a great deal of misinformation and foolish fantasy floating
around as to what ghosts are and, of course, whether they do in fact exist.

I was one of the first people with a background not only in science, but also in investigative jour-
nalism to say to the general public, in books and in the media, Yes, ghosts are for real. Nobody
laughed, because I followed through with evidence and with authentic photographic material taken
under test conditions.

What exactly is a ghost? Something people dream up in their cups or on a sickbed? Something
you read about in juvenile fiction? Far from it. Ghosts — apparitions of “dead” people or sounds asso-
ciated with invisible human beings — are the surviving emotional memories of people who have not
been able to make the transition from their physical state into the world of the spirit — or as Dr.

Joseph Rhine of Duke University has called it, the world of the mind. Their state is one of emotional
shock induced by sudden death or great suffering, and because of it the individuals involved cannot
understand what is happening to them. They are unable to see beyond their own immediate environ-
ment or problem, and so they are forced to continually relive those final moments of agony until
someone breaks through and explains things to them. In this respect they are like psychotics being
helped by the psychoanalyst, except that the patient is not on the couch, but rather in the atmosphere
of destiny. Man’s electromagnetic nature makes this perfectly plausible; that is, since our individual
personality is really nothing more than a personal energy field encased in a denser outer layer called
the physical body, the personality can store emotional stimuli and memories indefinitely without much
dimming, very much like a tape recording that can be played over and over without losing clarity or
volume.

Those who die normally under conditions of adjustment need not go through this agony, and
they seem to pass on rapidly into that next state of
consciousness that may be a “heaven” or a “hell,”

What Exactly Is a Ghost?

according to what the individual’s mental state at death
might have been. Neither state is an objective place, but is
a subjective state of being. The sum total of similar states
of being may, however, create a quasi-objective state
approaching a condition or “place” along more orthodox
religious lines. My contact with the confused individuals
unable to depart from the earth's sphere, those who are
commonly called “ghosts" or earth-bound spirits, is
through a trance medium who will lend her physical body
temporarily to the entities in difficulty so that they can
speak through the medium and detail their problems, frus-
trations, or unfinished business. Here again, the parallel
with psychoanalysis becomes apparent: in telling their tales
of woe, the restless ones relieve themselves of their pres-
sures and anxieties and thus may free themselves of their
bonds. If fear is the absence of information, as I have
always held, then knowledge is indeed the presence of
understanding. Or view it the other way round, if you pre-
fer. Because of my books, people often call on me to help
them understand problems of this nature. Whenever some-
one has seen a ghost or heard noises of a human kind that
do not seem to go with a body, and feel it might be some-
thing I ought to look into, I usually do.

To be sure, I don’t always find a ghost. But fre-
quently I do find one, and moreover, I find that many of
those who have had the uncanny experiences are them-
selves mediumistic, and are therefore capable of being com-
munications vehicles for the discarnates. Ghosts are more
common than most people realize, and, really quite natural
and harmless. Though, at times, they are sad and shocking,
as all human suffering is, for man is his worst enemy,
whether in the flesh or outside of it. But there is nothing
mystical about the powers of ESP or the ability to experience
ghostly phenomena.

Scoffers like to dismiss all ghostly encounters by cut-
ting the witnesses down to size — their size. The witnesses
are probably mentally unbalanced, they say, or sick people
who hallucinate a lot, or they were tired that day, or it
must have been the reflection from (pick your light source),
or finally, in desperation, they may say yes, something
probably happened to them, but in the telling they blew it
all up so you can’t be sure any more what really happened.

I love the way many people who cannot accept the
possibility of ghosts being real toss out their views on what
happened to strangers. They say, "Probably this or that,”
and from “probably” for them, it is only a short step to
“certainly.” The human mind is as clever at inventing
away as it is at hallucinating. The advantage in being a sci-
entifically trained reporter, as I am, is the ability to dismiss
people’s interpretations and find the facts. I talked of the
Ghosts I’ve Met in a book a few years ago that bore that
title. Even more fascinating are the people I’ve met who
encounter ghosts. Are they sick, unbalanced, crackpots or
other unrealistic individuals whose testimony is worthless?

CHAPTER FOUR: What Exactly Is a Ghost?

Far from it.

Those who fall into that category never get to me in
the first place. They don’t stand up under my methods of
scrutiny. Crackpots, beware! I call a spade a spade, as I
proved when I exposed the fake spiritualist camp practices
in print some years ago.

The people who come across ghostly manifestations
are people like you.

Take the couple from Springfield, Illinois, for
instance. Their names are Gertrude and Russell Meyers
and they were married in 1935. He worked as a stereo typer
on the local newspaper, and she was a high-school teacher.
Both of them were in their late twenties and couldn't care
less about such things as ghosts.

At the time of their marriage, they had rented a five-
room cottage which had stood empty for some time. It had
no particular distinction but a modest price, and was
located in Bloomington where the Meyerses then lived.

Gertrude Meyers came from a farm background and
had studied at Illinois Wesleyan as well as the University
of Chicago. For a while she worked as a newspaperwoman
in Detroit, later taught school, and as a sideline has written
a number of children’s books. Her husband Russell, also of
farm background, attended Illinois State Normal University
at Normal, Illinois, and later took his apprenticeship at the
Bloomington Pantograph.

The house they had rented in Bloomington was
exactly like the house next to it; the current owners had
converted what was formerly one large house into two sepa-
rate units, laying a driveway between them.

In the summer, after they had moved into their
house, they went about the business of settling down to a
routine. Since her husband worked the night shift on the
newspaper, Mrs. Meyers was often left alone in the house.
At first, it did not bother her at all. Sounds from the street
penetrated into the house and gave her a feeling of people
nearby. But when the chill of autumn set in and the win-
dows had to be closed to keep it out, she became aware,
gradually, that she was not really alone.

One particular night early in their occupancy of the
house, she had gone to bed leaving her bedroom door ajar.
It was 10:30 and she was just about ready to go to sleep
when she heard rapid, firm footsteps starting at the front
door, inside the house, and coming through the living
room, the dining room, and finally coming down the hall
leading to her bedroom door.

She leapt out of bed and locked the door. Then she
went back into bed and sat there, wondering with sheer
terror what the intruder would do. But nobody came.

More to calm herself than because she really believed
it, Mrs. Meyers convinced herself that she must have been
mistaken about those footsteps.

It was probably someone in the street. With this
reassuring thought on her mind, she managed to fall
asleep.

The next morning, she did not tell her new husband
about the nocturnal event. After all, she did not want him
to think he had married a strange woman!

But the footsteps returned, night after night, always
at the same time and always stopping abruptly at her bed-
room door, which, needless to say, she kept locked.

Rather than facing her husband with the allegation
that they had rented a haunted house, she bravely decided
to face the intruder and find out what this was all about.
One night she deliberately waited for the now familiar
brisk footfalls. The clock struck 10:00, then 10:30. In the
quiet of the night, she could hear her heart pounding in
her chest.

Then the footsteps came, closer and closer, until they
got to her bedroom door. At this moment, Mrs. Meyers
jumped out of bed, snapped on the light, and tore the door
wide open.

There was nobody there, and no retreating footsteps
could be heard.

She tried it again and again, but the invisible intruder
never showed himself once the door was opened.

The winter was bitterly cold, and Russell was in the
habit of building up a fire in the furnace in the basement
when he came home from work at 3:30 A.M. Mrs. Meyers
always heard him come in, but did not get up. One night
he left the basement, came into the bedroom and said,
"Why are you walking around this freezing house in the
middle of the night?”

Of course she had not been out of bed all night, and
told him as much. Then they discovered that he, too, had
heard footsteps, but had thought it was his wife walking
restlessly about the house. Meyers had heard the steps
whenever he was fixing the furnace in the basement, but by
the time he got upstairs they had ceased.

When Mrs. Meyers had to get up early to go to her
classes, her husband would stay in the house sleeping late.
On many days he would hear someone walking about the
house and investigate, only to find himself quite alone.

He would wake up in the middle of the night thinking
his wife and gotten up, and was immediately reassured
that she was sleeping peacefully next to him. Yet there was
someone out there in the empty house!

Since everything was securely locked, and countless
attempts to trap the ghost had failed, the Meyerses
shrugged and learned to live with their peculiar boarder.
Gradually the steps became part of the atmosphere of the
old house, and the terror began to fade into the darkness of
night.

In May of the following year, they decided to work in
the garden and, as they did so, they met their next-door
neighbors for the first time. Since they lived in identical
houses, they had something in common, and conversation
between them and the neighbors — a young man of twenty-
five and his grandmother — sprang up.

Eventually, the discussion got around to the foot-
steps. They, too, kept hearing them, it seemed. After they

had compared notes on their experiences, the Meyerses
asked more questions. They were told that before the
house was divided, it belonged to a single owner who had
committed suicide in the house. No wonder he liked to
walk in both halves of what was once his home!

* * *

You’d never think of Kokomo, Indiana as particularly
haunted ground, but one of the most touching cases I
know of occurred there some time ago. A young woman by
the name of Mary Elizabeth Hamilton was in the habit of
spending many of her summer vacations in her grand-
mother’s house. The house dates back to 1834 and is a
handsome place, meticulously kept up.

Miss Hamilton had never had the slightest interest in
the supernatural, and the events that transpired that sum-
mer, when she spent four weeks at the house, came as a
complete surprise to her. One evening she was walking
down the front staircase when she was met by a lovely
young lady coming up the stairs. Miss Hamilton noticed
that she wore a particularly beautiful evening gown. There
was nothing the least bit ghostly about the woman, and she
passed Miss Hamilton closely, in fact so closely that she
could have touched her had she wanted to.

But she did notice that the gown was of a filmy pink
material, and her hair and eyes were dark brown, and the
latter, full of tears. When the two women met, the girl in
the evening gown smiled at Miss Hamilton and passed by.

Since she knew that there was no other visitor in the
house, and that no one was expected at this time, Miss
Hamilton was puzzled. She turned her head to follow her
up the stairs. The lady in pink reached the top of the stairs
and vanished — into thin air.

As soon as she could, she reported the matter to her
grandmother, who shook her head and would not believe
her account. She would not even discuss it, so Miss Hamil-
ton let the matter drop out of deference to her grand-
mother. But the dress design had been so unusual, she
decided to check it out in a library. She found, to her
amazement, that the lady in pink had worn a dress that
was from the late 1 840s.

In September of the next year, her grandmother
decided to redecorate the house. In this endeavor she used
many old pieces of furniture, some of which had come
from the attic of the house. When Miss Hamilton arrived
and saw the changes, she was suddenly stopped by a por-
trait hung in the hall.

It was a portrait of her lady of the stairs. She was not
wearing the pink gown in this picture but, other than that,
she was the same person.

Miss Hamilton’s curiosity about the whole matter
was again aroused and, since she could not get any cooper-
ation from her grandmother, she turned to her great aunt

What Exactly Is a Ghost?

for help. This was particularly fortunate since the aunt was
a specialist in family genealogy.

Finally the lady of the stairs was identified. She
turned out to be a distant cousin of Miss Hamilton’s, and
had once lived in that very house.

She had fallen in love with a ne’er-do-well, and after
he died in a brawl, she threw herself down the stairs to her
death.

Why had the family ghost picked her to appear
before, Miss Hamilton wondered.

Then she realized that she bore a strong facial resem-
blance to the ghost. Moreover, their names were almost
identical — Mary Elizabeth was Miss Hamilton’s, and
Elizabeth Mary, the pink lady's. Both women even had the
same nickname, Libby.

Perhaps the ghost had looked for a little recognition
from her family and, having gotten none from the grand-
mother, had seized upon the opportunity to manifest her-
self to a more amenable relative?

Miss Hamilton is happy that she was able to see the
sad smile on the unfortunate girl’s face, for to her it is
proof that communication, though silent, had taken place
between them across the years.

* * *

Mrs. Jane Eidson is a housewife in suburban Min-
neapolis. She is middle-aged and her five children range in
age from nine to twenty. Her husband Bill travels four days
each week. They live in a cottage-type brick house that is
twenty-eight years old, and they’ve lived there for the past
eight years.

The first time the Eidsons noticed that there was
something odd about their otherwise ordinary-looking
home was after they had been in the house for a short
time. Mrs. Eidson was in the basement sewing, when all of
a sudden she felt that she was not alone and wanted to run
upstairs. She suppressed this strong urge but felt very
uncomfortable. Another evening, her husband was down
there practicing a speech when he also felt the presence of
another. His self-control was not as strong as hers, and he
came upstairs. In discussing their strange feelings with
their next-door neighbor, they discovered that the previous
tenant had also complained about the basement. Their
daughter, Rita, had never wanted to go to the basement by
herself and, when pressed for a reason, finally admitted
that there was a man down there. She described him as
dark-haired and wearing a plaid shirt.

Sometimes he would stand by her bed at night and
she would become frightened, but the moment she thought
of calling her mother, the image disappeared. Another spot
where she felt his presence was the little playhouse at the
other end of their yard.

The following spring, Mrs. Eidson noticed a bouncing
light at the top of the stairs as she was about to go to

CHAPTER FOUR: What Exactly Is a Ghost?

bed in an upstairs room, which she was occupying while
convalescing from surgery.

The light followed her to her room as if it had a
mind of its own!

When she entered her room the light left, but the
room felt icy. She was disturbed by this, but nevertheless
went to bed and soon had forgotten all about it as sleep
came to her. Suddenly, in the middle of the night, she
woke and sat up in bed.

Something had awakened her. At the foot of her bed
she saw a man who was “beige -colored,” as she put it. As
she stared at the apparition it went away, again leaving the
room very chilly.

About that same time, the Eidsons noticed that their
electric appliances were playing tricks on them. There was
the time at 5 A.M. when their washing machine went on by
itself, as did the television set in the basement, which could
only be turned on by plugging it into the wall socket.

When they had gone to bed, the set was off and there was
no one around to plug it in.

Who was so fond of electrical gadgets that they were
turning them on in the small hours of the morning?

Finally Mrs. Eidson found out. In May of 1949, a
young man who was just out of the service had occupied
the house. His hobby had been electrical wiring, it seems,
for he had installed a strand of heavy wires from the base-
ment underground through the yard to the other end of the
property. When he attempted to hook them up to the util-
ity pole belonging to the electric company, he was killed
instantly. It happened near the place where Mrs. Eidson ’s
girl had seen the apparition. Since the wires are still in her
garden, Mrs. Eidson is not at all surprised that the dead
man likes to hang around.

And what better way for an electronics buff to mani-
fest himself as a ghost than by appearing as a bright,
bouncy light? As of this writing, the dead electrician is still
playing tricks in the Eidson home, and Mrs. Eidson is
looking for a new home — one a little less unusual than
their present one.

* * *

Eileen Courtis is forty-seven years old, a native of
London, and a well-balanced individual who now resides
on the West coast but who lived previously in New York
City. Although she has never gone to college, she has a
good grasp of things, an analytical mind, and is not given
to hysterics. When she arrived in New York at age thirty -
four, she decided to look for a quiet hotel and then search
for a job.

The job turned out to be an average office position,
and the hotel she decided upon was the Martha Washing-
ton, which was a hotel for women only on Twenty-Ninth
Street. Eileen was essentially shy and a loner who only
made friends slowly.

She was given a room on the twelfth floor and,
immediately on crossing the threshold, she was struck by a

foul odor coming from the room. Her first impulse was to
ask for another room, but she was in no mood to create a
fuss so she stayed.

"I can stand it a night or two,” she thought, but did
not unpack. It turned out that she stayed in that room for
six long months, and yet she never really unpacked.

Now all her life, Eileen had been having various
experiences that involved extrasensory perception, and her
first impression of her new “home” was that someone had
died in it. She examined the walls inch by inch. There was
a spot where a crucifix must have hung for a long time,
judging by the color of the surrounding wall. Evidently it
had been removed when someone moved out. . .perm-
anently.

That first night, after she had gone to bed, her sleep
was interrupted by what sounded like the turning of a
newspaper page. It sounded exactly as if someone were sit-
ting in the chair at the foot of her bed reading a newspaper.
Quickly she switched on the light and she was, of
course, quite alone. Were her nerves playing tricks on her?
It was a strange city, a strange room. She decided to go
back to sleep. Immediately, the rustling started up again,
and then someone began walking across the floor, starting
from the chair and heading toward the door.

Eileen turned on every light in the room and it
stopped. Exhausted, she dozed off again. The next morn-
ing she looked over the room carefully. Perhaps mice had
caused the strange rustling. The strange odor remained, so
she requested that the room be fumigated. The manager
smiled wryly, and nobody came to fumigate her room.

The rustling noise continued, night after night, and Eileen
slept with the lights on for the next three weeks.

Somehow her ESP told her this presence was a strong-
willed, vicious old woman who resented others occupying
what she still considered "her” room. Eileen decided to
fight her. Night after night, she braved it out in the dark,
only to find herself totally exhausted in the morning. Her
appearance at the office gave rise to talk. But she was not
going to give in to a ghost. Side by side, the living and the
dead now occupied the same room without sharing it.

Then one night, something prevented her from going
off to sleep. She lay in bed quietly, waiting.

Suddenly she became aware of two skinny but very
strong arms extended over her head, holding a large downy
pillow as though to suffocate her!

It took every ounce of her strength to force the pillow
off her face.

Next morning, she tried to pass it off as a hallucina-
tion. But was it? She was quite sure that she had not been
asleep.

But still she did not move out, and one evening when
she arrived home from the office with a friend, she felt a
sudden pain in her back, as if she had been stabbed. Dur-
ing the night, she awoke to find herself in a state of utter
paralysis. She could not move her limbs or head. Finally,
after a long time, she managed to work her way to the tele-

phone receiver and call for a doctor. Nobody came. But her
control started to come back and she called her friend, who
rushed over only to find Eileen in a state of shock.

During the next few days she had a thorough exami-
nation by the company physician which included the taking
of X-rays to determine if there was anything physically
wrong with her that could have caused this condition. She
was given a clean bill of health and her strength had by
then returned, so she decided to quit while she was ahead.

She went to Florida for an extended rest, but eventu-
ally came back to New York and the hotel. This time she
was given another room, where she lived very happily and
without incident for over a year.

One day a neighbor who knew her from the time she
had occupied the room on the twelfth floor saw her in the
lobby and insisted on having a visit with her. Reluctantly,
for she is not fond of socializing, Eileen agreed. The con-
versation covered various topics until suddenly the neigh-
bor came out with “the time you were living in that haunt-
ed room across the hall.”

Since Eileen had never told anyone of her fearsome
experiences there, she was puzzled. The neighbor confessed
that she had meant to warn her while she was occupying
that room, but somehow never had mustered enough
courage. “Warn me of what?” Eileen insisted.

“The woman who had the room just before you
moved in,” the neighbor explained haltingly, “well, she was
found dead in the chair, and the woman who had it before
her also was found dead in the bathtub.”

Eileen swallowed quickly and left. Suddenly she knew
that the pillowcase had not been a hallucination.

* * *

The Buxhoeveden family is one of the oldest noble
families of Europe, related to a number of royal houses and
— since the eighteenth century, when one of the counts
married the daughter of Catherine the Great of Russia —
also to the Russian Imperial family. The family seat was
Lode Castle on the island of Eesel, off the coast of Estonia.
The castle, which is still standing, is a very ancient build-
ing with a round tower set somewhat apart from the main
building. Its Soviet occupants have since turned it into a
museum.

The Buxhoevedens acquired it when Frederick
William Buxhoeveden married Natalie of Russia; it was a
gift from mother-in-law Catherine.

Thus it was handed down from first-born son to
first-born son, until it came to be in the hands of an earlier
Count Anatol Buxhoeveden. The time was the beginning
of this century, and all was right with the world.

Estonia was a Russian province, so it was not out of
the ordinary that Russian regiments should hold war games
in the area. On one occasion, when the maneuvers were in
full swing, the regimental commander requested that his

What Exactly Is a Ghost?

officers be put up at the castle. The soldiers were located in
the nearby town, but five of the staff officers came to stay
at Lode Castle. Grandfather Buxhoeveden was the perfect
host, but was unhappy that he could not accommodate all
five in the main house. The fifth man would have to be
satisfied with quarters in the tower. Since the tower had by
then acquired a reputation of being haunted, he asked for a
volunteer to stay in that particular room.

There was a great deal of teasing about the haunted
room before the youngest of the officers volunteered and
left for his quarters.

The room seemed cozy enough, and the young officer
congratulated himself for having chosen so quiet and
pleasant a place to spend the night after a hard day's
maneuvers.

He was tired and got into bed right away. But he was
too tired to fall asleep quickly, so he took a book from one
of the shelves lining the walls, lit the candle on his night
table, and began to read.

As he did so, he suddenly became aware of a greenish
light on the opposite side of the room. As he looked at
the light with astonishment, it changed before his eyes into
the shape of a woman. She seemed solid enough. To his
horror, she came over to his bed, took him by the hand,
and demanded that he follow her. Somehow he could not
resist her commands, even though not a single word was
spoken. He followed her down the stairs into the library of
the castle itself. There she made signs indicating that he
was to remove the carpet. Without questioning her, he
flipped back the rug. She then pointed at a trap door that
was underneath the carpet. He opened the door and fol-
lowed the figure down a flight of stairs until they came to a
big iron door that barred their progress. The figure pointed
to a corner of the floor, and he dug into it. There he found
a key, perhaps ten inches long, and with it he opened the
iron gate. He now found himself in a long corridor that led
to a circular room. From there another corridor led on and
again he followed eagerly, wondering what this was all
about.

This latter corridor suddenly opened onto another
circular room that seemed familiar — he was back in his
own room. The apparition was gone.

What did it all mean? He sat up trying to figure it
out, and when he finally dozed off it was already dawn.
Consequently, he overslept and came down to breakfast
last. His state of excitement immediately drew the attention
of the count and his fellow officers. “You won’t believe
this,” he began and told them what had happened to him.

He was right. Nobody believed him.

But his insistence that he was telling the truth was so
convincing that the count finally agreed, more to humor
him than because he believed him, to follow the young
officer to the library to look for the alleged trap door.

CHAPTER FOUR: What Exactly Is a Ghost?

“But," he added, “I must tell you that on top of that
carpet are some heavy bookshelves filled with books which
have not been moved or touched in over a hundred years.

It is quite impossible for any one man to flip back that
carpet.”

They went to the library, and just as the count had
said, the carpet could not be moved. But Grandfather Bux-
hoeveden decided to follow through anyway and called in
some of his men. Together, ten men were able to move the
shelves and turn the carpet back. Underneath the carpet
was a dust layer an inch thick, but it did not stop the
intrepid young officer from looking for the ring of the trap
door. After a long search for it, he finally located it. A
hush fell over the group when he pulled the trap door
open. There was the secret passage and the iron gate. And
there, next to it, was a rusty iron key. The key fit the lock.
The gate, which had not moved for centuries perhaps,
slowly and painfully swung open, and the little group con-
tinued its exploration of the musty passages. With the offi-
cer leading, the men went through the corridors and came
out in the tower room, just as the officer had done during
the night.

But what did it mean? Everyone knew there were
secret passages — lots of old castles had them as a hedge in
times of war.

The matter gradually faded from memory, and life at
Lode went on. The iron key, however, was preserved and
remained in the Buxhoeveden family until some years ago,
when it was stolen from Count Alexander’s Paris
apartment.

Ten years went by, until, after a small fire in the cas-
tle, Count Buxhoeveden decided to combine the necessary
repairs with the useful installation of central heating, some-
thing old castles always need. The contractor doing the job
brought in twenty men who worked hard to restore and
improve the appointments at Lode. Then one day, the
entire crew vanished — like ghosts. Count Buxhoeveden
reported this to the police, who were already besieged by
the wives and families of the men who had disappeared
without leaving a trace.

Newspapers of the period had a field day with the
case of the vanishing workmen, but the publicity did not
help to bring them back, and the puzzle remained.

Then came the revolution and the Buxhoevedens lost
their ancestral home, Count Alexander and the present
Count Anatol, my brother-in-law, went to live in Switzer-
land. The year was 1923. One day the two men were walk-
ing down a street in Lausanne when a stranger approached
them, calling Count Alexander by name.

“I am the brother of the major domo of your castle,"
the man explained. “I was a plumber on that job of restor-
ing it after the fire."

So much time had passed and so many political
events had changed the map of Europe that the man was
ready at last to lift the veil of secrecy from the case of the
vanishing workmen.

This is the story he told: when the men were digging
trenches for the central heating system, they accidentally
came across an iron kettle of the kind used in the Middle
Ages to pour boiling oil or water on the enemies besieging
a castle. Yet this pot was not full of water, but rather of
gold. They had stumbled onto the long-missing Buxhoeve-
den treasure, a hoard reputed to have existed for centuries,
which never had been found. Now, with this stroke of
good fortune, the workmen became larcenous. They opted
for distributing the find among themselves, even though it
meant leaving everything behind — their families, their
homes, their work — and striking out fresh somewhere else.
But the treasure was large enough to make this a pleasure
rather than a problem, and they never missed their wives,
it would seem, finding ample replacements in the gentler
climes of western Europe, where most of them went to live
under assumed names.

At last the apparition that had appeared to the young
officer made sense: it had been an ancestor who wanted to
let her descendants know where the family gold had been
secreted. What a frustration for a ghost to see her efforts
come to naught, and worse yet, to see the fortune squan-
dered by thieves while the legal heirs had to go into exile.
Who knows how things might have tuned out for the Bux-
hoevedens if they had gotten to the treasure in time.

At any rate there is a silver lining to this account:
since there is nothing further to find at Lode Castle, the
ghost does not have to put in appearances under that new
regime. But Russian aristocrats and English lords of the
manor have no corner on uncanny phenomena. Nor are all
of the haunted settings I have encountered romantic or for-
bidding. Certainly there are more genuine ghostly manifes-
tations in the American Midwest and South than anywhere
else in the world. This may be due to the fact that a great
deal of violence occurred there during the nineteenth and
early twentieth centuries. Also, the American public’s atti-
tude toward such phenomena is different from that of
Europeans. In Europe, people are inclined to reserve their
accounts of bona fide ghosts for those people they can
trust. Being ridiculed is not a favorite pastime of most
Europeans.

Americans, by contrast, are more independent. They
couldn’t care less what others think of them in the long
run, so long as their own people believe them. I have
approached individuals in many cases with an assurance of
scientific inquiry and respect for their stories. I am not a
skeptic. I am a searcher for the truth, regardless of what
this truth looks or sounds like.

Some time ago, a well-known TV personality took
issue with me concerning my conviction that ESP and
ghosts are real. Since he was not well informed on the sub-
ject, he should not have ventured forth into an area I know
so well. He proudly proclaimed himself a skeptic.

Irritated, I finally asked him if he knew what being a
skeptic meant. He shook his head.

"The term skeptic," I lectured him patiently, “is
derived from the Greek word skepsis, which was the name
of a small town in Asia Minor in antiquity. It was known
for its lack of knowledge, and people from skepsis were
called skeptics.”

The TV personality didn’t like it at all, but the next
time we met on camera, he was a lot more human and his
humanity finally showed.

* * *

I once received a curious letter from a Mrs. Stewart
living in Chicago, Illinois, in which she explained that she
was living with a ghost and didn’t mind, except that she
had lost two children at birth and this ghost was following
not only her but also her little girl. This she didn’t like, so
could I please come and look into the situation?

I could and did. On July 4, 1 celebrated Indepen-
dence Day by trying to free a hung-up lady ghost on
Chicago’s South Side. The house itself was an old one,
built around the late 1 800s, and not exactly a monument of
architectural beauty. But its functional sturdiness suited its
present purpose — to house a number of young couples and
their children, people who found the house both convenient
and economical.

In its heyday, it had been a wealthy home, complete
with servants and a set of backstairs for the servants to go
up and down on. The three stories are even now connected
by an elaborate buzzer system which hasn’t worked for
years.

I did not wish to discuss the phenomena at the house
with Mrs. Stewart until after Sybil Leek, who was with me,
had had a chance to explore the situation. My good friend
Carl Subak, a stamp dealer, had come along to see how I
worked. He and I had known each other thirty years ago
when we were both students, and because of that he had
overcome his own — ah — skepticism — and decided to
accompany me. Immediately upon arrival, Sybil ascended
the stairs to the second floor as if she knew where to go!

Of course she didn’t; I had not discussed the matter with
her at all. But despite this promising beginning, she drew a
complete blank when we arrived at the upstairs apartment.
“I feel absolutely nothing,” she confided and looked at me
doubtfully. Had I made a mistake? She seemed to ask. On
a hot July day, had we come all the way to the South Side
of Chicago on a wild ghost chase?

We gathered in a bedroom that contained a comfort-
able chair and had windows on both sides that looked out
onto an old-fashioned garden; there was a porch on one
side and a parkway on the other. The furniture, in keeping
with the modest economic circumstances of the owners,
was old and worn, but it was functional and the inhabitants
did not seem to mind.

In a moment, Sybil Leek had slipped into trance. But
instead of a ghost’s personality, the next voice we heard

What Exactly Is a Ghost?

was Sybil’s own, although it sounded strange. Sybil was
“out" of her own body, but able to observe the place and
report back to us while still in trance.

The first thing she saw were maps, in a large round
building somehow connected with the house we were in.
"Is there anyone around?” I asked.

“Yes,” Sybil intoned, “James Dugan.”

“What does he do here?”

“Come back to live."

“When was that?”

"1912.”

“Is there anyone with him?”

“There is another man. McCloud.”

“Anyone else?”

“Lots of people.”

“Do they live in this house?”

“Three, four people. . .McCloud. . .maps. .

“All men?”

“No . . . girl . . .Judith . . . maidservant ...”

“Is there an unhappy presence here?”

“Judith. . .she had no one here, no family. . .that man
went away. . .Dugan went away.. .”

“How is she connected with this Dugan?”

"Loved him?”

"Were they married?”

“No. Lovers.”

"Did they have any children?”

There was a momentary silence, then Sybil continued
in a drab, monotonous voice.

"The baby’s dead.”

“Does she know the baby’s dead?”

“She cries. ..baby cries. . .neglected. . .by
Judith... guilty...”

"Does Judith know this?”

“Yes.”

“How old was the baby when it died?”

“A few weeks old.”

Strange, I thought, that Mrs. Stewart had fears for
her own child from this source. She, too, had lost children
at a tender age.

“What happened to the baby?”

“She put it down the steps.”

“What happened to the body then?”

“I don't know.”

“Is Judith still here?”

“She’s here.”

“Where?"

“This room. . .and up and down the steps. She’s
sorry for her baby.”

“Can you talk to her?”

“No. She cannot leave here until she finds — You see
if she could get Dugan — ”

“Where is Dugan?”

"With the maps.”

CHAPTER FOUR: What Exactly Is a Ghost?

“What is Dugan’s work?”

"Has to do with roads.”

“Is he dead?”

“Yes. She wants him here, but he is not here.”

“How did she die?”

"She ran away to the water. . .died by the
water. . .but is here where she lived. . .baby died on the
steps. . .downstairs. . . ”

"What is she doing here, I mean how does she let
people know she is around?”

“She pulls things.. .she cries..."

“And her Christian name?”

“Judith Vincent, I think. Twenty-one. Darkish, not
white. From an island.”

“And the man? Is he white?”

“Yes.”

“Can you see her?”

“Yes.”

"Speak to her?”

“She doesn’t want to, but perhaps. . . ”

"What year does she think this is?”

"1913.”

“Tell her this is the year 1965.”

Sybil informed the spirit in a low voice that this was
1965 and she need not stay here any longer, that Dugan
was dead, too.

“She has to find him,” Sybil explained and I directed
her to explain that she need only call out for her lover in
order to be reunited with him “Over There.”

“She's gone. . . ” Sybil finally said, and breathed
deeply.

A moment later she woke up and looked with aston-
ishment at the strange room, having completely forgotten
how we got here, or where we were.

There was no time for explanations now, as I still
wanted to check out some of this material. The first one to
sit down with me was the owner of the flat, Mrs. Alexan-
der Stewart. A graduate of the University of Iowa, twenty-
five years old, Alexandra Stewart works as a personnel
director. She had witnessed the trance session and seemed
visibly shaken. There was a good reason for this. Mrs.
Stewart, you see, had met the ghost Sybil had described.

The Stewarts had moved into the second-floor apart-
ment in the winter of 1964. The room we were now sitting
in had been hers. Shortly after they moved in, Mrs. Stewart
happened to be glancing up toward the French doors, when
she saw a woman looking at her. The figure was about five
feet three or four, and wore a blue-gray dress with a shawl,
and a hood over her head, so that Mr. Stewart could not
make out the woman’s features. The head seemed strangely
bowed to her, almost as if the woman were doing penance.

I questioned Mrs. Stewart on the woman’s color in
view of Sybil’s description of Judith. But Mrs. Stewart
could not be sure; the woman could have been white or
black. At the time, Mrs. Stewart had assumed it to be a

reflection from the mirror, but when she glanced at the
mirror, she did not see the figure in it.

When she turned her attention back to the figure, it
had disappeared. It was toward evening and Mrs. Stewart
was a little tired, yet the figure was very real to her. Her
doubts were completely dispelled when the ghost returned
about a month later. In the meantime she had moved the
dresser that formerly stood in the line of sight farther
down, so that the explanation of the reflection would sim-
ply not hold water. Again the figure appeared at the
French doors. She looked very unhappy to Mrs. Stewart,
who felt herself strangely drawn to the woman, almost as if
she should help her in some way as yet unknown.

But the visual visitations were not all that disturbed
the Stewarts. Soon they were hearing strange noises, too.
Above all, there was the crying of a baby, which seemed to
come from the second-floor rear bedroom. It could also be
heard in the kitchen, though it was less loud there, and
seemed to come from the walls. Several people had heard it
and there was no natural cause to account for it. Then
there were the footsteps. It sounded like someone walking
down the back-stairs, the servant’s stairs, step by step, hes-
itatingly, and not returning, but just fading away!

They dubbed their ghostly guest "Elizabeth,” for
want of a better name. Mrs. Stewart did not consider her-
self psychic, nor did she have any interest in such matters.
But occasionally things had happened to her that defied
natural explanations, such as the time just after she had
lost a baby. She awoke form a heavy sleep to the intangible
feeling of a presence in her room. She looked up and there,
in the rocking chair across the room, she saw a woman,
now dead, who had taken care of her when she herself was
a child. Rocking gently in the chair, as if to reassure her,
the Nanny held Mrs. Stewart’s baby in her arms. In a
moment the vision was gone, but it had left Alexandra
Stewart with a sense of peace. She knew her little one was
well looked after.

The phenomena continued, however, and soon they
were no longer restricted to the upstairs. On the first floor,
in the living room, Mrs. Stewart heard the noise of some-
one breathing close to her. This had happened only
recently, again in the presence of her husband and a friend.
She asked them to hold their breath for a moment, and still
she heard the strange breathing continuing as before. Nei-
ther of the men could hear it, or so they said. But the fol-
lowing day the guest came back with another man. He
wanted to be sure of his observation before admitting that
he too had heard the invisible person breathing close to
him.

The corner of the living room where the breathing
had been heard was also the focal point for strange knock -
ings that faulty pipes could not explain. On one occasion
they heard the breaking of glass, and yet there was no evi-
dence that any glass had been broken. There was a feeling
that someone other than those visible was present at times

in their living room, and it made them a little nervous even
though they did not fear their “Elizabeth.”

Alexandra’s young husband had grown up in the
building trade, and now works as a photographer. He too
has heard the footsteps on many occasions, and he knows
the difference between footsteps and a house settling or
timbers creaking. These were definitely human noises.

Mrs. Martha Vaughn is a bookkeeper who had been
living in the building for two years. Hers is the apartment
in the rear portion of the second floor, and it includes the
back porch. Around Christmas of 1964 she heard a baby
crying on the porch. It was a particularly cold night, so she
went to investigate immediately. It was a weird, unearthly
sound — to her it seemed right near the porch, but there
was nobody around. The yard was deserted. The sound to
her was the crying of a small child, not a baby, but per-
haps a child of between one and three years of age. The
various families shared the downstairs living room "like a
kibbutz,” as Mrs. Stewart put it, so it was not out of the
ordinary for several people to be in the downstairs area. On
one such occasion Mrs. Vaughn also heard the breaking of
the invisible glass.

Richard Vaughn is a laboratory technician. He too
has heard the baby cry and the invisible glass break; he has
heard pounding on the wall, as have the others. A skeptic
at first, he tried to blame these noises on the steam pipes
that heat the house. But when he listened to the pipes
when they were acting up, he realized at once that the
noises he had heard before were completely different.

“What about a man named Dugan? Or someone hav-
ing to do with maps?” I asked.

“Well,” Vaughn said, and thought back, “I used to
get mail here for people who once lived here, and of course
I sent it all back to the post office. But I don’t recall the
name Dugan. What I do recall was some mail from a
Washington Bureau. You see, this house belongs to the
University of Chicago and a lot of professors used to live
here.”

“Professors?” 1 said with renewed interest.

Was Dugan one of them?

Several other people who lived in the house experi-
enced strange phenomena. Barbara Madonna, who works
three days a week as a secretary, used to live there too. But
in May of that year she moved out. She had moved into
the house in November of the previous year. She and her
husband much admired the back porch when they first
moved in, and had visions of sitting out there drinking a
beer on warm evenings. But soon their hopes were dashed
by the uncanny feeling that they were not alone, that
another presence was in their apartment, and especially out
on the porch. Soon, instead of using the porch, they stu-
diously avoided it, even if it meant walking downstairs to
shake out a mop. Theirs was the third-floor apartment,
directly above the Stewart apartment.

What Exactly Is a Ghost?

A girl by the name of Lolita Krol also had heard the
baby crying. She lived in the building for a time and bit-
terly complained about the strange noises on the porch.

Douglas McConnor is a magazine editor, and he and
his wife moved into the building in November of the year
Barbara Madonna moved out, first to the second floor and
later to the third. From the very first, when McConnor was
still alone — his wife joined him in the flat after their mar-
riage a little later — he felt extremely uncomfortable in the
place. Doors and windows would fly open by themselves
when there wasn’t any strong wind.

When he moved upstairs to the next floor, things
were much quieter, except for Sunday nights, when noisy
activities would greatly increase toward midnight. Foot-
steps, the sounds of people rushing about, and of doors
opening and closing would disturb Mr. McConnor’s rest.
The stairs were particularly noisy. But when he checked,
he found that everybody was accounted for, and that no
living person had caused the commotion.

It got to be so bad he started to hate Sunday nights.

I recounted Sybil’s trance to Mr. McConnor and the
fact that a woman named Judith had been the central figure
of it.

"Strange,” he observed, “but the story also fits that of
my ex-wife, who deserted her children. She is of course
very much alive now. Her name is Judith.”

Had Sybil intermingled the impression a dead maid-
servant with the imprint left behind by an unfit mother?

Or were there two Judiths? At any rate the Stewarts did
not complain further about uncanny noises, and the girl in
the blue-gray dress never came back.

As he drove as out to the airport Carl Subak seemed
unusually silent. What he had witnessed seemed to have
left an impression on him and his philosophy of life.

“What I find so particularly upsetting,” he finally
said, "is Sybil’s talking about a woman and a dead baby —
all of it borne out afterwards by the people in the house.

But Sybil did not know this. She couldn’t have.”

No, she couldn’t.

In September, three years later, a group consisting of
a local television reporter, a would-be psychic student, and
an assortment of clairvoyants descended on the building in
search of psychic excitement. All they got out of it were
mechanical difficulties with their cameras. The ghosts were
long gone.

* * *

Ghosts are not just for the thrill seekers, nor are they
the hallucinations of disturbed people. Nothing is as demo-
cratic as seeing or hearing a ghost, for it happens all the
time, to just about every conceivable type of person. Nei-
ther age nor race nor religion seem to stay these spectral
people in their predetermined haunts.

CHAPTER FOUR: What Exactly Is a Ghost?

Naturally I treat each case on an individual basis.
Some I reject on the face of the report, and others only
after I have undertaken a long and careful investigation.

But other reports have a ring of truth about them and are
worthy of belief, even though sometimes they are no longer
capable of verification because witnesses have died or sites
have been destroyed.

A good example is the case reported to me recently
by a Mrs. Edward Needs, Jr., of Canton, Ohio. In a small
town by the name of Homeworth, there is a stretch of land
near the highway that is today nothing more than a
neglected farm with a boarded-up old barn that’s still
standing. The spot is actually on a dirt road, and the near-
est house is half a mile away, with wooded territory in
between. This is important, you see, for the spot is isolated
and a man might die before help could arrive. On rainy
days, the dirt road is impassable. Mrs. Needs has passed
the spot a number of times, and does not particularly care
to go there. Somehow it always gives her an uneasy feeling.
Once, the Need’s car got stuck in the mud on a rainy day,
and they had to drive through open fields to get out.

It was on that adventure-filled ride that Mr. Needs
confided for the first time what had happened to him at
that spot on prior occasions. Edward Needs and a friend
were on a joy ride after dark. At that time Needs had not
yet married his present wife, and the two men had been
drinking a little, but were far from drunk. It was then that
they discovered the dirt road for the first time.

On the spur of the moment, they followed it. A
moment later they came to the old barn. But just as they
were approaching it, a man jumped out of nowhere in front
of them. What was even more sobering was the condition
this man was in: he was engulfed in flames from head to
toe!

Quickly Needs put his bright headlights on the scene,
to see better. The man then ran into the woods across the
road, and just disappeared.

Two men never became cold sober more quickly.

They turned around and went back to the main highway
fast. But the first chance they had, they returned with two
carloads full of other fellows. They were equipped with
strong lights, guns, and absolutely no whiskey. When the
first of the cars was within 20 feet of the spot where Needs
had seen the apparition, they all saw the same thing: there
before them was the horrible spectacle of a human being
blazing from top to bottom, and evidently suffering terribly
as he tried to run away from his doom. Needs emptied his
gun at the figure: it never moved or acknowledged that it
had been hit by the bullets. A few seconds later, the figure
ran into the woods — exactly as it had when Needs had first
encountered it.

Now the ghost posse went into the barn, which they
found abandoned, although not in very bad condition. The
only strange thing was a cluster of spots showing evidence
of fire: evidently someone or something had burned inside
the barn without setting fire to the barn as a whole. Or had
the fiery man run outside to save his barn from the fire?

* * *

Betty Ann Tylaska lives in a seaport in Connecticut.
Her family is a prominent one going back to Colonial days,
and they still occupy a house built by her great -great -great
-grandfather for his daughter and her husband back in
1807.

Mrs. Tylaska and her husband, a Navy officer, were
in the process of restoring the venerable old house to its
former glory. Neither of them had the slightest interest in
the supernatural, and to them such things as ghosts simply
did not exist except in children’s tales.

The first time Mrs. Tylaska noticed anything unusual
was one night when she was washing dishes in the kitchen.

Suddenly she had the strong feeling that she was
being watched. She turned around and caught a glimpse of
a man standing in the doorway between the kitchen and
the living room of the downstairs part of the house. She
saw him only for a moment, but long enough to notice his
dark blue suit and silver buttons. Her first impression was
that it must be her husband, who of course wore a navy
blue uniform. But on checking she found him upstairs,
wearing entirely different clothes.

She shrugged the matter off as a hallucination due to
her tiredness, but the man in blue kept returning. On sev-
eral occasions, the same uncanny feeling of being watched
came over her, and when she turned around, there was the
man in the dark blue suit.

It came as a relief to her when her mother confessed
that she too had seen the ghostly visitor — always at the
same spot, between the living room and kitchen. Finally
she informed her husband, and to her surprise, he did not
laugh at her. But he suggested that if it were a ghost, per-
haps one of her ancestors was checking up on them.

Perhaps he wanted to make sure they restored the
house properly and did not make any unwanted changes.
They were doing a great deal of painting in the process of
restoring the house, and whatever paint was left they would
spill against an old stone wall at the back of the house.

Gradually the old stones were covered with paint of
various hues.

One day Mr. Tylaska found himself in front of these
stones. For want of anything better to do at the moment,
he started to study them. To his amazement, he discovered
that one of the stones was different from the others: it was
long and flat. He called his wife and they investigated the
strange stone; upon freeing it from the wall, they saw to
their horror that it was a gravestone — her great -great -great-
grandfather’s tombstone, to be exact.

Inquiry at the local church cleared up the mystery of
how the tombstone had gotten out of the cemetery. It
seems that all the family members had been buried in a
small cemetery nearby. But when it had filled up, a larger
cemetery was started. The bodies were moved over to the
new cemetery and a larger monument was erected over the
great-great-great-grandfather’s tomb. Since the original
stone was of no use any longer, it was left behind. Some-

how the stone got used when the old wall was being built.
But evidently great-great-great-grandfather did not like the
idea. Was that the reason for his visits? After all, who likes
having paint splashed on one’s precious tombstone? I ask
you.

The Tylaska family held a meeting to decide what to
do about it. They could not very well put two tombstones
on granddad’s grave. What would the other ancestors
think? Everybody would want to have two tombstones
then; and while it might be good news to the stonecutter, it
would not be a thing to do in practical New England.

So they stood the old tombstone upright in their own
backyard. It was nice having granddad with them that way,
and if he felt like a visit, why, that was all right with them
too.

From the moment they gave the tombstone a place of
honor, the gentleman in the dark blue suit and the silver
buttons never came back. But Mrs. Tylaska does not par-
ticularly mind. Two Navy men in the house might have
been too much of a distraction anyway.

* * *

Give ghosts their due, and they’ll be happy. Happy
ghosts don’t stay around: in fact, they turn into normal
spirits, free to come and go (mostly go) at will. But until
people come to recognize that the denizens of the Other
World are real people like you and me, and not benighted
devils or condemned souls in a purgatory created for the
benefit of a political church, people will be frightened of
them quite needlessly. Sometimes even highly intelligent
people shudder when they have a brush with the uncanny.

Take young Mr. Bentine, for instance, the son of my
dear friend Michael Bentine, the British TV star. He, like
his father, is very much interested in the psychic. But
young Bentine never bargained for firsthand experiences.

It happened at school, Harrow, one of the finest
British “public schools” (in America they are called private
schools), one spring. Young Bentine lived in a dormitory
known as The Knoll. One night around 2 A.M., he awoke
from sound sleep. The silence of the night was broken by
the sound of footsteps coming from the headmaster’s room.
The footsteps went from the room to a nearby bathroom,
and then suddenly came to a halt. Bentine thought nothing
of it, but why had it awakened him? Perhaps he had been
studying too hard and it was merely a case of nerves. At
any rate, he decided not to pay any attention to the strange
footsteps. After all, if the headmaster wished to walk at
that ungodly hour, it was his business and privilege.

But the following night the same thing happened.
Again, at 2 A.M. he found himself awake, to the sound of
ominous footsteps. Again they stopped abruptly when they
reached the bathroom. Coincidence? Cautious, young Ben-
tine made some inquiries. Was the headmaster given to
nocturnal walks, perhaps? He was not.

What Exactly Is a Ghost?

The third night, Bentine decided that if it happened
again, he would be brave and look into it. He fortified him-
self with some tea and then went to bed. It was not easy
falling asleep, but eventually his fatigue got the upper hand
and our young man was asleep in his room.

Promptly at 2, however, he was awake again. And
quicker than you could say "Ghost across the hall,” there
were the familiar footsteps!

Quickly, our intrepid friend got up and stuck his
head out of his door, facing the headmaster’s room and the
bathroom directly across the corridor.

The steps were now very loud and clear. Although he
did not see anyone, he heard someone move along the
passage.

He was petrified. As soon as the footsteps had come
to the usual abrupt halt in front of the bathroom door, he
crept back into his own room and bed. But sleep was out
of the question. The hours were like months, until finally
morning came and a very tired Bentine went down to
breakfast, glad the ordeal of the night had come to an end.

He had to know what this was all about, no matter
what the consequences. To go through another night like
that was out of the question.

He made some cautious inquiries about that room.
There had been a headmaster fourteen years ago who had
died in that room. It had been suicide, and he had hanged
himself in the shower. Bentine turned white as a ghost
himself when he heard the story. He immediately tried to
arrange to have his room changed. But that could not be
done as quickly as he had hoped, so it was only after
another two-and-a-half weeks that he was able to banish
the steps of the ghostly headmaster from his mind.

His father had lent him a copy of my book, Ghost
Hunter, and he had looked forward to reading it when
exams eased up a bit. But now, even though he was in
another room that had not the slightest trace of a ghost, he
could not bring himself to touch my book. Instead, he con-
centrated on reading humor.

Unfortunately nobody did anything about the ghostly
headmaster, so it must be that he keeps coming back down
that passage to his old room, only to find his body still
hanging in the shower.

You might ask, "What shall I do if I think I have a
ghost in the house? Shall I run? Shall I stay? Do I talk to it
or ignore it? Is there a rule book for people having ghosts?”
Some of the questions I get are like that. Others merely
wish to report a case because they feel it is something I
might be interested in. Still others want help: free them
from the ghost and vice versa.

But so many people have ghosts — almost as many as
have termites, not that there is any connection — that I can-
not personally go after each and every case brought to my
attention by mail, telephone, e-mail, or television.

In the most urgent cases, I try to come and help the
people involved. Usually I do this in connection with a TV
show or lecture at the local university, for someone has to
pay my expenses. The airlines don’t accept ghost money,
nor do the innkeepers. And thus far I have been on my
own, financially speaking, with no institute or research
foundation to take up the slack. For destruction and bombs
there is always money, but for research involving the psy-
chic, hardly ever.

Granted, I can visit a number of people with
haunted -house problems every year, but what do the others
do when I can’t see them myself? Can I send them to a
local ghost hunter, the way a doctor sends patients to a col-
league if he can’t or does not wish to treat them?

Even if I could, I wouldn’t do it. When they ask for
my help, they want my approach to their peculiar problems
and not someone else’s. In this field each researcher sees
things a little differently from the next one. I am probably
the only parapsychologist who is unhesitatingly pro-ghost.
Some will admit they exist, but spend a lot of time trying
to find “alternate” explanations if they cannot discredit the
witnesses.

I have long, and for good scientific reasons, been con-
vinced that ghosts exist. Ghosts are ghosts. Not hallucina-
tions, necessarily, and not the mistakes of casual observers.
With that sort of practical base to start from, I go after the
cases by concentrating on the situation and the problems,
rather than, as some researchers will do, trying hard to
change the basic stories reported to me. I don’t work on
my witnesses; I’ve come to help them. To try and shake
them with the sophisticated apparatus of a trained parapsy-
chologist is not only unfair, but also foolish. The original
reports are straight reports of average people telling what
has happened in their own environment. If you try to
shake their testimony, you may get a different story — but
it won’t be the truth, necessarily. The more you confuse
the witnesses, the less they will recall firsthand information.

My job begins after the witnesses have told their
stories.

In the majority of the cases I have handled, I have
found a basis of fact for the ghostly "complaint.” Once in a
while, a person may have thought something was supernor-
mal when it was not, and on rare occasions I have come
across mentally unbalanced people living in a fantasy world
of their own. But there just aren’t that many kooks who
want my help: evidently my scientific method, even though
I am convinced of the veracity of ghostly phenomena, is
not the kind of searchlight they wish to have turned on
their strange stories.

What to do until the Ghost Hunter arrives? Relax, if
you can. Be a good observer even if you're scared stiff.

And remember, please — ghosts are also people.

There, but for the grace of God, goes someone like

you.

CHAPTER FOUR: What Exactly Is a Ghost?

CHAPTER FIVE

Famous Ghosts

HERE we DEAL WITH the ghosts of famous people, whose names nearly everyone will recognize.
This category includes historical celebrities, national figures, heroes, leaders, and also
celebrities of Hollywood, the theatre, people who once made headlines, and people who had
some measure of fame, which is usually a lot more than the proverbial fifteen minutes that, according
to the late Andy Warhol, everyone can find.

There are many houses or places where famous ghosts have appeared that are open to the public.
These include national monuments, local museums, historical houses and mansions. But are the
famous ghosts still there when you visit? Well, now, that depends: many ghostly experiences are, as I
have pointed out, impressions from the past, and you get to sort of relive the events that involved
them in the past. It is a little difficult to sort this out, tell which is a bona fide resident ghost still
hanging around the old premises and which is a scene from the past. But if you are the one who is
doing the exploring, the ghost hunter as it were, it is for you to experience and decide for yourself.
Good hunting!

GHOSTS IN FICTION

Ghosts, phantoms and spirits have always been a staple for novelists and dramatists. Mysterious and
worrisome ghosts are both part of the human experience yet outside the mainstream of that world.
Many of the false notions people have about ghosts come from fiction. Only in fictional ghost stories
do ghosts threaten or cause harm: in the real afterlife, they are too busy trying to understand their sit-
uation to worry about those in the physical world.

From Chaucer’s Canterville ghost with his rattling chain to Shakespeare’s ghost of Hamlet’s
father, who restlessly walked the ramparts of his castle because of unresolved matters (such as his
murder), in literature, ghosts seem frightening and undesirable. No Caspers there.

Famous Ghosts

The masters of the macabre, from E. T. A. Hoffman
to Edgar Allan Poe, have presented their ghosts as sorrow-
ful, unfortunate creatures who are best avoided.

The Flying Dutchman is a man, punished by God
for transgressions (though they are never quite explained),
who cannot stop being a ghost until true love comes his
way. Not likely, among the real kind.

* * *

Edith Wharton’s novels offer us far more realistic
ghosts, perhaps because she is nearer to our time and was
aware of psychical research in these matters.

There is a pair of ghostly dancing feet in one of Rud-
yard Kipling’s Indian tales that used to keep me up nights
when I was a boy. Today, they would merely interest me
because of my desire to see the rest of the dancer, too.

Arthur Conan Doyle presents us with a colorful but
very believable ghost story in "The Law of the Ghost.”
Lastly, the ghosts of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol are not
really ghosts but messengers from beyond, symbolic at
best.

Please don’t rush to Elsinore Castle in Denmark in
search of the unfortunate king who was murdered by his
brother because, alas, both the murdered king and his
brother Claudius are as much figments of Shakespeare’s
imagination as is the melancholy Dane, Hamlet, himself.

Television ghosts tend to be much less frightening, even
pleasant. The ghosts in “The Ghost and Mrs. Muir,”
starring Rex Harrison, were sarcastic, almost lovable. The
ghostly couple the banker Topper had to contend with was
full of mischief, at worst, and helpful, at best.

And they did all sorts of things real ghosts don’t do,
but special effects will have their say.

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
58

» 1

The Conference House Ghost

ONLY AN HOUR OR SO by ferry boat from bustling Man-
hattan lies the remote charm of Staten Island, where many
old houses and even farms still exist in their original form
within the boundaries of New York City.

One of these old houses, and a major sight-seeing
attraction, is the so-called “Conference House,” where the
British Commander, Lord Howe, received the American
Conference delegation consisting of Benjamin Franklin,
John Adams, and Edward Rutledge, on September 1 1 ,

1776. The purpose of the meeting was to convince the
Americans that a peaceful solution should be found for the
difficulties between England and the Colonies. The meet-
ing proved unsuccessful, of course, and the Revolutionary
War ensued.

The house itself is a sturdy white two- story building,
erected along typical English manorhouse lines, in 1688, on
a site known then as Bentley Manor in what is today Tot-
tenville. There are two large rooms on the ground floor,
and a staircase leading to an upper story, also divided into
two rooms; a basement contains the kitchen and a vaultlike
enclosure. The original owner of the house was Captain
Billopp of the British Navy, and his descendants lived in
the house until the close of the Revolutionary period.

Local legends have had the house “haunted” for
many years. The story was that Billopp, a hard man, jilted
his fiancee, and that she died of a broken heart in this very
house. For several generations back, reports of noises, mur-
murs, sighs, moans, and pleas have been received and the
old Staten Island Transcript, a local newspaper, has men-
tioned these strange goings-on over the years. When the
house was being rebuilt, after having been taken over as a
museum by the city, the workers are said to have heard the
strange noises, too.

It was against this background that I decided to
investigate the house in the company of Mrs. Meyers, who
was to be our sensitive, and two friends, Rose de Simone
and Pearl Winder, who were to be the "sitters,” or assis-
tants to the medium.

After we had reached Staten Island, and were about
half an hour’s drive from the house, Mrs. Meyers volun-
teered her impressions of the house which she was yet to
see! She spoke of it as being white, the ground floor
divided into two rooms, a brown table and eight chairs in
the east room; the room on the west side of the house is
the larger one, and lighter colored than the other room, and
some silverware was on display in the room to the left.

Upon arriving at the house, I checked these state-
ments; they were correct, except that the number of chairs
was now only seven, not eight, and the silver display had
been removed from its spot eight years before!

Mrs. Meyers’ very first impression was the name
“Butler”; later I found that the estate next door belonged
to the Butler family, unknown, of course, to the medium.

We ascended the stairs; Mrs. Meyers sat down on
the floor of the second -story room to the left. She described
a woman named Jane, stout, white-haired, wearing a dark
green dress and a fringed shawl, then mentioned the name
Howe. It must be understood that the connection of Lord
Howe with the house was totally unknown to all of us until
after checking up on the history of the Conference House,
later on.

Next Mrs. Meyers described a man with white hair,
or a wig, wearing a dark coat with embroidery at the neck,
tan breeches, dark shoes, and possessed of a wide, square
face, a thick nose, and looking “Dutch.” “The man died in
this room,” she added.

She then spoke of the presence of a small boy, about
six, dressed in pantaloons and with his hair in bangs. The
child born in this room was specially honored later, Mrs.
Meyers felt. This might apply to Christopher Billopp, born
at the house in 1737, who later became Richmond County
representative in the Colonial Assembly. Also, Mrs. Mey-
ers felt the “presence" of a big man in a fur hat, rather fat,
wearing a skin coat and high boots, brass-buckle belt and
black trousers; around him she felt boats, nets, sailing
boats, and she heard a foreign, broad accent, also saw him
in a four-masted ship of the square-rigger type. The initial
T was given. Later, I learned that the Billopp family were
prominent Tory leaders up to and during the Revolution.

This man, Mrs. Meyers felt, had a loud voice, broad
forehead, high cheekbones, was a vigorous man, tall, with
shaggy hair, and possibly Dutch. His name was Van B.,
she thought. She did not know that Billopp (or Van Bil-
lopp) was the builder of the house.

"I feel as if I’m being dragged somewhere by Indians,”
Mrs. Meyers suddenly said. “There is violence,
somebody dies on a pyre of wood, two men, one white, one
Indian; and on two sticks nearby are their scalps.”

Later, I ascertained that Indian attacks were frequent
here during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries and
that, in fact, a tunnel once existed as an escape route to the
nearby waterfront, in case of hostile Indian sieges. Large
numbers of arrowheads have been unearthed around the
house.

Down in the cellar, Mrs. Meyers felt sure six people
had been buried near the front wall during the Revolution-
ary War, all British soldiers; she thought eight more were
buried elsewhere on the grounds and sensed the basement
full of wounded “like a hospital.” On investigation, I found
that some members of Billopp ’s family were indeed buried
on the grounds near the road; as for the British soldiers,
there were frequent skirmishes around the house between
Americans infiltrating from the nearby New Jersey shore
and the British, who held Staten Island since July 4, 1776.

The Conference House Ghost

At one time, Captain Billopp, a British subject, was kid-
napped by armed bandits in his own house, and taken to
New Jersey a prisoner of the Americans!

We returned to the upper part of the house once
more. Suddenly, Mrs. Meyers felt impelled to turn her
attention to the winding staircase. I followed with mount-
ing excitement.

Descending the stairs, our medium suddenly halted
her steps and pointed to a spot near the landing of the sec-
ond story. “Someone was killed here with a crooked knife,
a woman!” she said. There was horror on her face as if she
were reliving the murder. On questioning the custodian,
Mrs. Early, I discovered that Captain Billopp, in a rage,
had indeed killed a female slave on that very spot!

m 2

The Stranger at the Door

I HAVE FOUND THAT there are ghosts in all sorts of
places, in ancient castles, modern apartment houses, farms
and ships — but it is somewhat of a jolt to find out you’ve
lived in a house for a few years and didn’t even know it
was haunted. But that is exactly what happened to me.

For three years I was a resident of a beautiful twenty-
nine-story apartment building on Riverside Drive. I lived
on the nineteenth floor, and seldom worried about what
transpired below me. But I was aware of the existence of a
theater and a museum on the ground floor of the building.

I was also keenly aware of numerous inspired paintings,
some Tibetan, some Occidental, adorning the corridors of
this building. The museum is nowadays known as the
Riverside Museum, and the paintings were largely the work
of the great Rohrach, a painter who sought his inspirations
mainly in the mysticism of Tibet, where he spent many
years. On his return from the East, his many admirers
decided to chip in a few million and build him a monu-
ment worthy of his name. Thus, in 1930, was raised the
Rohrach building as a center of the then flourishing cult of
Eastern mysticism, of which Rohrach was the high priest.
After his death, a schism appeared among his followers,
and an exodus took place. A new “Rohrach Museum” was
established by Seena Fosdick, and is still in existence a few
blocks away from the imposing twenty-nine-story structure
originally known by that name. In turn, the building where
I lived changed its name to that of the Master Institute, a
combination apartment building and school, and, of course,
art gallery.

It was in February of 1960 when I met at a tea party
— yes, there are such things in this day and age — a young
actress and producer, Mrs. Roland, who had an interesting
experience at "my” building some years ago. She was not
sure whether it was 1952 or 1953, but she was quite sure
that it happened exactly the way she told it to me that win-
ter afternoon in the apartment of famed author Claudia de
Lys.

A lecture-meeting dealing with Eastern philosophy
had drawn her to the Rohrach building. Ralph Huston, the

CHAPTER FIV& Famous Ghosts
60

eminent philosopher, presided over the affair, and a full
turnout it was. As the speaker held the attention of the
crowd, Mrs. Roland’s eyes wandered off to the rear of the
room. Her interest was invited by a tall stranger standing
near the door, listening quietly and with rapt attention.
Mrs. Roland didn’t know too many of the active members,
and the stranger, whom she had never seen before, fasci-
nated her. His dress, for one thing, was most peculiar. He
wore a gray cotton robe with a high-necked collar, the kind
one sees in Oriental paintings, and on his head he had a
round black cap. He appeared to be a fairly young man,
certainly in the prime of life, and his very dark eyes in par-
ticular attracted her.

For a moment she turned her attention to the
speaker; when she returned to the door, the young man
was gone.

Peculiar, she thought; “why should he leave in the
middle of the lecture? He seemed so interested in it all.”

As the devotees of mysticism slowly filed out of the
room, the actress sauntered over to Mrs. Fosdick whom
she knew to be the “boss lady ” of the group.

“Tell me,” she inquired, “who was that handsome
dark-eyed young man at the door?”

Mrs. Fosdick was puzzled. She did not recall any
such person. The actress then described the stranger in
every detail. When she had finished, Mrs. Fosdick seemed
a bit pale.

But this was an esoteric forum, so she did not hesi-
tate to tell Mrs. Roland that she had apparently seen an
apparition. What was more, the description fitted the great
Rohrach — in his earlier years — to a T. Mrs. Roland had
never seen Rohrach in the flesh.

At this point, Mrs. Roland confessed that she had
psychic abilities, and was often given to "hunches.” There
was much head shaking, followed by some hand shaking,
and then the matter was forgotten.

I was of course interested, for what would be nicer
than to have a house ghost, so to speak?

The next morning, I contacted Mrs. Fosdick. Unfor-
tunately, this was one of the occasions when truth did not
conquer. When I had finished telling her what I wanted
her to confirm, she tightened up, especially when she found
out I was living at the “enemy camp,” so to speak.
Emphatically, Mrs. Fosdick denied the incident, but admit-
ted knowing Mrs. Roland.

With this, I returned to my informant, who reaf-
firmed the entire matter. Again I approached Mrs. Fosdick
with the courage of an unwelcome suitor advancing on the
castle of his beloved, fully aware of the dragons lurking in
the moat.

While I explained my scientific reasons for wanting
her to remember the incident, she launched into a tirade
concerning her withdrawal from the “original” Rohrach
group, which was fascinating, but not to me.

I have no reason to doubt Mrs. Roland’s account,
especially as I found her extremely well poised, balanced,
and indeed, psychic.

I only wondered if Mr. Rohrach would sometime
honor me with a visit, or vice versa, now that we were
neighbors?

» 3

A Visit with Alexander Hamilton’s
Ghost

THERE STANDS AT Number 27, Jane Street, in New
York’s picturesque artists’ quarters, Greenwich Village, a
mostly wooden house dating back to pre-Revolutionary
days. In this house Alexander Hamilton was treated in his
final moments. Actually, he died a few houses away, at 80
Jane Street, but No. 27 was the home of John Francis, his
doctor, who attended him after the fatal duel with Aaron
Burr.

However, the Hamilton house no longer exists, and
the wreckers are now after the one of his doctor, now occu-
pied a writer and artist, Jean Karsavina, who has lived
there since 1939.

The facts of Hamilton’s untimely passing are well
known; D. S. Alexander (in his Political History of the State
of New York) reports that, because of political enmity,

“Burr seems to have deliberately determined to kill him.”

A letter written by Hamilton calling Burr "despicable” and
“not to be trusted with the reins of government” found its
way into the press, and Burr demanded an explanation.
Hamilton declined, and on June 11, 1804, atWeehawken,
New Jersey, Burr took careful aim, and his first shot mor-
tally wounded Hamilton. In the boat back to the city,
Hamilton regained consciousness, but knew his end was
near. He was taken to Dr. Francis’ house and treated, but
died within a few days at his own home, across the street.

Ever since moving into 27 Jane Street, Miss Karsav-
ina has been aware of footsteps, creaking stairs, and the
opening and closing of doors; and even the unexplained
flushing of a toilet. On one occasion, she found the toilet
chain still swinging, when there was no one around! “I
suppose a toilet that flushes would be a novelty to someone
from the eighteenth century,” she is quoted in a brief
newspaper account in June of 1957.

She also has seen a blurred “shape,” without being
able to give details of the apparition; her upstairs tenant,
however, reports that one night not so long ago, “a man in

■*

eighteenth-century clothes, with his hair in a queue”
walked into her room, looked at her and walked out again.

Miss Karsavina turned out to be a well-read and
charming lady who had accepted the possibility of living
with a ghost under the same roof. Mrs. Meyers and I went
to see her in March 1960. The medium had no idea where
we were going.

At first, Mrs. Meyers, still in waking condition,
noticed a “shadow” of a man, old, with a broad face and
bulbous nose; a woman with a black shawl whose name she
thought was Deborah, and she thought “someone had a
case”; she then described an altar of white lilies, a bridal
couple, and a small coffin covered with flowers; then a very
old woman in a coffin that was richly adorned, with rela-
tives including a young boy and girl looking into the open
coffin. She got the name of Mrs. Patterson, and the girl’s
as Miss Lucy. In another “impression” of the same
premises, Mrs. Meyers described “an empty coffin, people
weeping, talking, milling around, and the American Flag
atop the coffin ; in the coffin a man’s hat, shoes with silver
buckles, gold epaulettes. . . .” She then got close to the man
and thought his lungs were filling with liquid and he died
with a pain in his side.

Lapsing into semitrance at this point, Mrs. Meyers
described a party of men in a small boat on the water, then
a man wearing white pants and a blue coat with blood
spilled over the pants. “Two boats were involved, and it is
dusk,” she added.

Switching apparently to another period, Mrs. Meyers
felt that "something is going on in the cellar, they try to
keep attention from what happens downstairs; there is a
woman here, being stopped by two men in uniforms with
short jackets and round hats with wide brims, and pistols.
There is the sound of shrieking, the woman is pushed back
violently, men are marching, someone who had been har-
bored here has to be given up, an old man in a nightshirt
and red socks is being dragged out of the house into the
snow.”

In still another impression, Mrs. Meyers felt herself
drawn up toward the rear of the house where “someone
died in childbirth”; in fact, this type of death occurred

A Visit with Alexander Hamilton’s Ghost

“several times” in this house. Police were involved, too,
but this event or chain of events is of a later period than
the initial impressions, she felt. The name Henry Oliver or
Oliver Henry came to her mind.

After her return to full consciousness, Mrs. Meyers
remarked that there was a chilly area near the center of the
downstairs room. There is; I feel it too. Mrs. Meyers
"sees” the figure of a slender man, well-formed, over aver-
age height, in white trousers, black boots, dark blue coat
and tails, white lace in front; he is associated with George
Washington and Lafayette, and their faces appear to her,
too; she feels Washington may have been in this house.

The man she “sees” is a general, she can see his epaulettes.
The old woman and the children seen earlier are somehow
connected with this, too. He died young, and there "was
fighting in a boat.” Now Mrs. Meyers gets the name “W.
Lawrence.” She has a warm feeling about the owner of the
house; he took in numbers of people, like refugees.

A “General Mills” stored supplies here — shoes, coats,
almost like a military post; food is being handed out. The
name Bradley is given. Then Mrs. Meyers sees an old man
playing a cornet; two men in white trousers “seen” seated
at a long table, bent over papers, with a crystal chandelier
above.

After the seance, Miss Karsavina confirmed that the
house belonged to Hamilton’s physician, and as late as

1825 was owned by a doctor, who happened to be the doc-
tor for the Metropolitan Opera House. The cornet
player might have been one of his patients.

In pre-Revolutionary days, the house may have been
used as headquarters of an “underground railroad,” around
1730, when the police tried to pick up the alleged instiga-
tors of the so-called "Slave Plot,” evidently being sheltered
here.

“Lawrence” may refer to the portrait of Washington
by Lawrence which used to hang over the fireplace in the
house. On the other hand, I found a T. Lawrence, M. D.,
at 146 Greenwich Street, in Elliot’s Improved Directory for
New York (1812); and a “Widow Patterson” is listed by
Longworth (1803) at 177 William Street; a William
Lawrence, druggist, at 80 John Street. According to
Charles Burr Todd’s Story of New York, two of Hamilton’s
pallbearers were Oliver Wolcott and John L. Lawrence.
The other names mentioned could not be found. The
description of the man in white trousers is of course the
perfect image of Hamilton, and the goings-on at the house
with its many coffins, and women dying in childbirth, are
indeed understandable for a doctor's residence.

It does not seem surprising that Alexander Hamil-
ton’s shade should wish to roam about the house of the
man who tried, vainly, to save his life.

» 4

The Fifth Avenue Ghost

SOME CASES OF haunted houses require but a single visit
to obtain information and evidence, others require two or
three. But very few cases in the annals of psychic research
can equal or better the record set by the case I shall call
The Fifth Avenue Ghost. Seventeen sessions, stretching
over a period of five months, were needed to complete this
most unusual case. I am presenting it here just as it
unfolded for us. I am quoting from our transcripts, our
records taken during each and every session; and because
so much evidence was obtained in this instance that could
only be obtained from the person these events actually
happened to, it is to my mind a very strong case for the
truth about the nature of hauntings.

* * *

It isn’t very often that one finds a haunted apartment
listed in the leading evening paper.

Occasionally, an enterprising real-estate agent will
add the epithet “looks haunted” to a cottage in the country
to attract the romanticist from the big city.

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

But the haunted apartment I found listed in the New
York Daily News one day in July 1953 was the real McCoy.
Danton Walker, the late Broadway columnist, had this
item —

One for the books: an explorer, advertising his Fifth
Avenue Studio for sublet, includes among the attractions
‘attic dark room with ghost.’ . . .

The enterprising gentleman thus advertising his
apartment for rent turned out to be Captain Davis, a cele-
brated explorer and author of many books, including, here
and there, some ghost lore. Captain Davis was no skeptic.
To the contrary, I found him sincere and well aware of the
existence of psychical research. Within hours, I had dis-
cussed the case with the study group which met weekly at
the headquarters of the Association for Research and
Enlightenment, the Edgar Cayce Foundation. A team was
organized, consisting of Bernard Axelrod, Nelson Welsh,
Stanley Goldberg, and myself, and, of course, Mrs. Meyers
as the medium. Bernard Axelrod and I knew that there was
some kind of "ghost” at the Fifth Avenue address, but lit-
tle more. The medium knew nothing whatever. Two days
after the initial session, a somewhat fictional piece appeared
in the New York Times (July 13, 1953) by the late Meyer
Berger, who had evidently interviewed the host, but not the

ghost. Mr. Berger quoted Captain Davis as saying there
was a green ghost who had hanged himself from the studio
gallery, and allegedly sticks an equally green hand out of
the attic window now and then.

Captain Davis had no idea who the ghost was. This
piece, it must be re-emphasized, appeared two days after
the initial sitting at the Fifth Avenue house, and its con-
tents were of course unknown to all concerned at the time.

* * *

In order to shake hands with the good Captain, we
had to climb six flights of stairs to the very top of 226
Fifth Avenue. The building itself is one of those big old
town houses popular in the mid-Victorian age, somber,
sturdy, and well up to keeping its dark secrets behind its
thickset stone walls. Captain Davis volunteered the infor-
mation that previous tenants had included Richard Hard-
ing Davis, actor Richard Mansfield, and a lady magazine
editor. Only the lady was still around and, when inter-
viewed, was found to be totally ignorant of the entire ghost
tradition, nor had she ever been disturbed. Captain Davis
also told of guests in the house having seen the ghost at
various times, though he himself had not. His home is one
of the those fantastic and colorful apartments only an
explorer or collector would own — a mixture of comfortable
studio and museum, full of excitement and personality, and
offering more than a touch of the Unseen. Two wild jungle
cats completed the atmospheric picture, somewhat anticli-
maxed by the host's tape recorder set up on the floor. The
apartment is a kind of duplex, with a gallery or balcony
jutting out into the main room. In the middle of this bal-
cony was the window referred to in the Times interview.
Present were the host, Captain Davis, Mr. and Mrs.
Bertram Long, the Countess de Sales, all friends of the
host’s, and the group of researchers previously mentioned
— a total of eight people, and, if you wish, two cats. As
with most sittings, tape recordings were made of the pro-
ceedings from beginning to end, in addition to which writ-
ten notes were taken.

MEETING A GHOST

Like a well -rehearsed television thriller, the big clock in the
tower across the square struck nine, and the lights were
doused, except for one medium-bright electric lamp. This
was sufficient light, however, to distinguish the outlines of
most of the sitters, and particularly the center of the room
around the medium.

A comfortable chair was placed under the gallery, in
which the medium took her place; around her, forming a
circle, sat the others, with the host operating the recorder
and facing the medium. It was very still, and the atmos-
phere seemed tense. The medium had hardly touched the
chair when she grabbed her own neck in the unmistakable
manner of someone being choked to death, and nervously
told of being “hung by the neck until dead.” She then sat

in the chair and Bernard Axelrod, an experienced hypno-
tist, conditioned her into her usual trance condition, which
came within a few minutes.

With bated breath, we awaited the arrival of what-
ever personality might be the “ghost” referred to. We
expected some violence and, as will be seen shortly, we got
it. This is quite normal with such cases, especially at the
first contact. It appears that a “disturbed personality” con-
tinuously relives his or her “passing condition,” or cause of
death, and it is this last agony that so frequently makes
ghostly visitations matters of horror. If emotional anxiety is
the cause of death, or was present at death, then the “dis-
turbed personality,” or entity, will keep reliving that final
agony, much like a phonograph needle stuck in the last
groove of a record. But here is what happened on that first
occasion.

Sitting of July 11th, 1953, at 226 Fifth Avenue

The medium, now possessed by unknown entity, has diffi-
culty in speaking. Entity breaks into mad laughter full of
hatred.

Entity: . . .curry the horse. . .they’re coming. . .curry the
horse! Where is Mignon? WHERE IS SHE?

Question: We wish to help you. Who is Mignon?

Entity: She should be here. . .where is she. . .you’ve got
her! Where is she? Where is the baby?

Question: What baby?

Entity: What did they do with her?

Question: We’re your friends.

Entity: (in tears) Oh, an enemy . . .an enemy. . . .

Question: What is your name?

Entity: Guychone. . .Guychone. . . .(expresses pain at the
neck; hands feeling around are apparently puzzled by find-
ing a woman’s body)

Question: You are using someone else’s body. (Entity
clutches throat.) Does it hurt you there?

Entity: Not any more. . .it’s whole again. . . I can’t

see. . . .All is so different, all is very strange. . .nothing is the

same.

I asked how he died. This excited him immediately.

Entity: (hysterical) I didn’t do it. . . I tell you I didn’t do it,
no. . .Mignon, Mignon. . .where is she? They took the
baby . . . she put me away . . . they took her .... (Why did she
put you away?) So no one could find me (Where?) I stay
there (meaning upstairs) all the time.

The Fifth Avenue Ghost

At this point, tapes were changed. Entity, asked
where he came from, says Charleston, and that he lived in
a white house.

Question: Do you find it difficult to use this body?

Entity: WHAT?? WHAT?? I’m HERE. . .I’m here. , . . This is
my house. . .what are YOU doing here?

Question: Tell me about the little room upstairs.

Entity: (crying) Can I go. . .away. . .from the room?

At this point, the entity left, and the medium’s control,
Albert, took over her body.

Albert: There is a very strong force here, and it has been a
little difficult. This individual here suffered violence at the
hands of several people. He was a Confederate and he was
given up, hidden here, while they made their escape.

Question: What rank did he hold?

Albert: I believe that he had some rank. It is a little dubi-
ous as to what he was.

Question: What was his name?

Albert: It is not as he says. That is an assumed name, that
he likes to take. He is not as yet willing to give full particu-
lars. He is a violent soul underneath when he has oppor-
tunity to come, but he hasn't done damage to anyone, and
we are going to work with him, if possible, from this side.
Question: What about Mignon and the baby?

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

Albert: Well, they of course are a long time on this side, but
he never knew that, what became of them. They were sep-
arated cruelly. She did not do anything to him.

Question: How did he leave this world?

Albert: By violence. (Was he hanged?) Yes. (In the little
room?) Yes. (Was it suicide or murder?) He says it was
murder.

* * *

The control then suggests to end the trance, and try
for results in “open” sitting. We slowly awaken the
medium.

While the medium is resting, sitter Stanley Goldberg
remarks that he has the impression that Guychone’s father
came from Scotland.

Captain Davis observes that at the exact moment of
“frequency change” in the medium, that is, when Guy-
chone left and Albert took over, the control light of the
recording apparatus suddenly blazed up of its own accord,
and had to be turned down by him.

A standing circle was then formed by all present,
holding hands, and taking the center of the room. Soon the
medium started swinging forward and back like a sus-
pended body. She remarked feeling very stiff “from hang-
ing and surprised to find that I'm whole, having been cut
open in the middle.”

Both Axelrod and I observed a luminescent white and
greenish glow covering the medium, creating the impres-
sion of an older man without hair, with high cheekbones
and thin arms. This was during the period when Guychone
was speaking through the medium.

The seance ended at 12:30. The medium reported
feeling exhausted, with continued discomfort in the throat
and stomach.

THE INVESTIGATION CONTINUES

Captain Davis, unfortunately, left on a worldwide trip the
same week, and the new tenant was uncooperative. I felt
we should continue the investigation. Once you pry a
“ghost" loose from his place of unhappy memories, he can
sometimes be contacted elsewhere.

Thus, a second sitting took place at the headquarters
of the study group, on West 1 6th Street. This was a small,
normally-furnished room free of any particular atmosphere,
and throughout this and all following sittings, subdued
light was used, bright enough to see all facial expressions
quite clearly. There was smoking and occasional talking in
low voices, none of which ever disturbed the work. Before
the second sitting, Mrs. Meyers remarked that Guychone
had “followed her home” from the Fifth Avenue place, and
twice appeared to her at night in a kind of “whitish halo,”
with an expression of frantic appeal in his eyes. Upon her
admonition to be patient until the sitting, the apparition
had vanished.

Sitting of July 14th, 1953, at 125 West 16th Street

Question: Do you know what year this is?

Guychone: 1873.

Question: No, it is 1953. Eighty years have gone by. You
are no longer alive. Do you understand?

Guychone: Eighty years? EIGHTY YEARS? I’m not a
hundred-ten years?

Question: No, you’re not. You’re forever young. Mignon is
on your side, too. We have come to help you understand
yourself. What happened in 1873?

Guychone: Nobody’s goddamn business. . .mine. . .mine!
Question: All right, keep your secret then, but don’t you
want to see Mignon? Don’t you want justice done? (mad,
bitter laughter) Don’t you believe in God? (more laughter)
The fact you are here and are able to speak, doesn’t that
prove that there is hope for you? What happened in 1873?
Remember the house on Fifth Avenue, the room upstairs,
the horse to be curried?

Guychone: Riding, riding. . .find her. . .they took her away.
Question: Who took her away?

Guychone: YOU! (threatens to strike interrogator)

Question: No, we’re your friends. Where can we find a
record of your Army service? Is it true you were on a dan-
gerous mission?

Guychone: Yes.

Question: In what capacity?

Guychone: That is my affair! I do not divulge my secrets. I
am a gentleman, and my secrets die with me.

Question: Give us your rank.

Guychone: I was a Colonel.

Question: In what regiment?

Guychone: Two hundred and sixth.

Question: Were you infantry or cavalry?

Guychone: Cavalry.

Question: In the War Between the States?

Guychone: Yes.

Question: Where did you make your home before you came
to New York?

Guychone: Charleston. . .Elm Street.

Question: What is your family name, Colonel?

Guychone: (crying) As a gentleman, I am yet not ready to
give you that information. . .it’s no use, I won’t name it.
Question: You make it hard for us, but we will abide by
your wishes.

Guychone: (relieved) I am very much obliged to you. . .for
giving me the information that it is EIGHTY YEARS. Eighty
years!

I explain about the house on Fifth Avenue, and that
Guychone ’s “presence” had been felt from time to time.
Again, I ask for his name.

(Apparently fumbling for paper, he is given paper
and fountain pen; the latter seems to puzzle him at first,
but he then writes in the artistic, stylized manner of the
mid-Victorian age — ’’Edouard Guychone.”)

Question: Is your family of French extraction?

Guychone: Yes.

Question: Are you yourself French or were you born in this
country?

Guychone: In this country .. .Charleston.

Question: Do you speak French?

Guychone: No.

Question: Is there anything you want us to do for you?

Any unfinished business?

Guychone: Eighty years makes a difference. . .1 am a bro-
ken man. . .God bless you. . .Mignon. . .it is so dark, so
dark. . . .

I explain the reason for his finding himself temporar-
ily in a woman's body, and how his hatred had brought him
back to the house on Fifth Avenue, instead of passing over
to the “other side.”

Guychone: (calmer) There IS a God?

I ask when was he born.

Guychone: (unsure) 1840. . .42 years old. . . .

This was the most dramatic of the sittings. The tran-
script cannot fully convey the tense situation existing
between a violent, hate-inspired and God-denying person-
ality fresh from the abyss of perennial darkness, and an
interrogator trying calmly to bring light into a disturbed
mind. Toward the end of the session, Guychone under-
stood about God, and began to realize that much time had
passed since his personal tragedy had befallen him. Actu-
ally, the method of "liberating” a ghost is no different from
that used by a psychiatrist to free a flesh-and-blood person
from obsessions or other personality disturbances. Both
deal with the mind.

It became clear to me that many more sessions would
be needed to clear up the case, since the entity was reluc-
tant to tell all. This is not the case with most "ghosts,”
who generally welcome a chance to “spill” emotions pent
up for long years of personal hell. Here, however, the
return of reason also brought back the critical faculty of
reasoning, and evaluating information. We had begun to
liberate Guychone’s soul, but we had not yet penetrated to

The Fifth Avenue Ghost

his conscience. Much hatred, fear, and pride remained, and
had to be removed, before the true personality could
emerge.

Sitting of July 21st, 1953

Albert, the medium’s control, spoke first.

Question: Have you found any information about his wife
and child?

Albert: You understand that this is our moral code, that
that which comes from the individual within voluntarily is
his sacred development. That which he wishes to divulge
makes his soul what it should eventually be.

I asked that he describe Guychone’s appearance to
us.

Albert: At the moment he is little developed from the
moment of passing. He is still like his latter moments in
life. But his figure was of slight build, tall. . .five feet nine
or ten. . .his face is round, narrow at the chin, high at the
cheekbones, the nose is rather prominent, the mouth rather
wide. . .the forehead high, at the moment of death and for
many years previous very little hair. The eyes set close to
the nose.

Question: Have you learned his real name?

Albert: It is not his wish as yet. He will tell you, he will
develop his soul through his confession. Here he is!

Guychone: (at first grimacing in pain) It is nice to come,
but it is hell. . .1 have seen the light. It was so dark.

Question: Your name, sir?

Guychone: I was a gentleman. . .my name was defiled. I
cannot see it, I cannot hear it, let me take it, when it is
going to be right. I have had to pay for it; she has paid her
price. I have been so happy. I have moved about. I have
learned to right wrongs. I have seen the light.

Question: I am going to open your eyes now. Look at the
calendar before you, and tell me what is the date on it?
(placing calendar)

Guychone: 1953.... (pointing at the tape recorder in
motion) Wagon wheels!

Question: Give us the name of one of your fellow officers
in the war. Write it down.

Guychone: Iamapoor soul.... (writes: Mignonmy
wife. . .Guychone) Oh, my feet, oh my feet. . .they hurt
me so now. ..they bleed. ..I have to always go backwards,
backwards. What shall I do with my feet? They had no
shoes. . .we walked over burning weed. . .they burned the
weed. . .(Who?) The Damyankees. . .1 wake up, I see the

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
66

burning weed — (Where? When?) I have to reach out, I
have so much to reach for, have patience with me, I can
only reach so far — I’ll forget. I will tell you everything.
(Where?) Georgia! Georgia! (Did you fight under General
Lee?) I fell under him. (Did you die under him?) No, no.
Question: Who was with you in the regiment?

Guychone: Johnny Greenly. . .it is like another
world. . .Jerome Harvey. (Who was the surgeon?) I did not
see him. Horse doctors. (Who was your orderly?) Wal-
ter. . .my boy. . I can’t tell the truth, and I try so hard. . . .

I will come with the truth when it comes, you see the
burning weeds came to me. . . I will think of happier things
to tell. . .I’d like to tell you about the house in Charleston,
on Elm Street. I think it is 320, I was born in it.

Question: Any others in the family?

Guychone: Two brothers. They died. They were in the war
with me. I was the eldest. William, and Paul. (And you're
Edward?) Yes. (Your mother?) Mary. (Your father?)
Frederick. (Where was he born?) Charleston. (Your moth-
er’s maiden name?) Ah. . . ! (Where did you go to college?)
William. . .William and. . .a white house with green grass.
(When did you graduate?) Fifty-three. . .ONE HUNDRED
YEARS — It is hard to get into those corners where I can’t
think any more.

"I never had my eyes open before, in trance,”
observed Mrs. Meyers afterwards. ‘‘While I could look at
you and you looked like yourself, I could almost look
through you. That never happened before. I could only see
what I focused on. This machine. . .it seemed the wheels
were going much, much faster than they are going now.”

* * *

On July 25th, 1953, a "planchette” session was held
at the home of Mrs. Meyers, with herself and the late Mrs.
Zoe Britton present, during which Guychone made himself
known, and stated that he had a living son, 89 years old,
now living in a place called Seymour, West Virginia.

EVIDENTIAL MATERIAL BEGINS TO PILE UP

By now we knew we had an unusual case. I went through
all the available material on this period (and there is a lot),
without turning up anyone named Guychone.

These were extremely hot afternoons, but the quest
went on. Rarely has any psychic researcher undertaken a
similarly protracted project to hunt down psychic evidence.

Sitting of July 28th, 1953

Finding a St. Michael’s medal around my neck, Guychone
says it reminds him of a medal of St. Anne, which his
‘Huguenot mother,” Marie Guychone, had given him.

Question: Do you remember the name of your college?

Guychone: Two colleges. St. Anne’s in Charleston, South
Carolina. ... Only one thought around another, that’s all I
had — curry the horses. Why? I know now. I remember. I
want to say my mother is here, I saw her, she says God
bless you. I understand more now. Thank you. Pray for
me.

Sitting of August 4th, 1953

This sitting repeated previous information and consisted in
a cat-and-mouse game between Guychone and myself.
However, toward the end, Guychone began to speak of his
son Gregory, naming him for the first time. He asked us to
find him. We asked, “What name does Gregory use?”
Guychone casually answered: “I don’t
know. . .Guychone. . .maybe McGowan. ...” The name
McGowan came very quietly, but sufficiently distinct to be
heard by all present. At the time, we were not over-
whelmed. Only when research started to yield results did
we realize that it was his real name at last. But I was not
immediately successful in locating McGowan on the regi-
mental rosters, far from it! I was misled by his statement of
having served in the cavalry, and naturally gave the cavalry
rosters my special attention, but he wasn’t in them. Late in
August I went through the city records of Charleston,

West Virginia, on a futile search for the Guychone family,
assuming still that they were his in-laws. Here I found
mention of a “McGowan’s Brigade.”

Sitting of August 18th, 1953

Question: Please identify yourself, Colonel.

McGowan: Yes. . .Edward. . .1 can stay? I can stay?

Question: Why do you want so much to stay? Are you not
happy where you are?

McGowan: Oh yes. But I like to talk very much. . .how
happy I am.

Question: What was your mother’s name?

McGowan: Marie Guychone.

Question: What is your name?

McGowan: Guychone.

Question: Yes; that is the name you used, but you really
are...?

McGowan: Edward Mac. . .Mac. . .curry the horses!

(excited, is calmed by me) Yes, I see. . .Mac. . .McGowan!

I remember more now, but I can only tell what I
know. . .it is like a wall. . .1 remember a dark night, I was
crazy. . .war on one hand, fighting, bullets. . .and then, fly-
ing away, chasing, chasing, chasing. . . .

Question: What regiment were you with?

McGowan: Six. . .two. . .sometimes horse. . .oh, in that
fire....

Question: Who was your commanding general?

McGowan: But — Butler.

He then speaks of his service in two regiments, one
of which was the Sixth South Carolina Regiment, and he
mentions a stand on a hill, which was hell, with the
Damyankees on all sides. He says it was at Chattanooga.

* * *

Question: The house on Fifth Avenue, New York. . .do
you remember the name of your landlord?

McGowan: A woman. . .Elsie (or L. C.). . .stout. ...

Actually, he says, a man collected the rent, which he
had trouble paying at times. He knew a man named Pat
Duffy in New York. He was the man who worked for his
landlady, collecting the rent, coming to his door.

During the interrogation about his landlord,

McGowan suddenly returns to his war experiences. “There
was a Griffin,” he says, referring to an officer he knew.

Sitting of August 25th, 1953

“The Colonel,” as we now called him, came through very
clearly. He introduced himself by his true name. Asked
again about the landlady in New York, he now adds that
she was a widow. Again, he speaks of “Griff. . .Griff. ...”
Asked what school he went to, he says "St. Anne’s College
in Charleston, South Carolina, and also William and Mary
College in Virginia, the latter in 1850, 51, 52, 53, 54.”

What was his birthday? He says "February 10, 1830.” Did
he write any official letters during the war? He says, "I
wrote to General Robert E. Lee.” What about? When?
“January, 1864. Atlanta.... I needed horses, horses, wheels
to run the things on.” Did you get them? “No.” What reg-
iment was he with then? “The Sixth from South Carolina.”
But wasn’t he from West Virginia? Amazed, McGowan
says, "No, from South Carolina.”

I then inquired about his family in New York.
McGowan explained that his mother did live with
him there, and died there, but after his own death “they”
went away, including his sister-in-law Gertrude and
brother William. Again, he asks that we tell his son
Gregory “that his father did not do away with himself."

I asked, "Where is there a true picture of you?”
McGowan replied, "There is one in the courthouse in
Charleston, South Carolina." What kind of a picture?

“Etch. . .etch. . .tintype!"

All through these sittings it was clear that
McGowan’s memory was best when "pictures” or scenes
were asked for, and worst when precise names or dates
were being requested. He was never sure when he gave a
figure, but was very sure of his facts when he spoke of sit-

The Fifth Avenue Ghosts

uations or relationships. Thus, he gave varying dates for
his own birthday, making it clear that he was hazy about
it, not even aware of having given discrepant information
within a brief period.

But then, if a living person undergoes a severe shock,
is he not extremely hazy about such familiar details as his
name or address? Yet, most shock victims can describe their
house, or their loved ones. The human memory, appar-
ently, is more reliable in terms of associations, when under
stress, than in terms of factual information, like names and
figures.

By now research was in full swing, and it is fortunate
that so much prima facie evidence was obtained before the
disclosure of McGowan’s true name started the material
flowing. Thus, the old and somewhat tiring argument of
“mental telepathy” being responsible for some of the infor-
mation can only be applied, if at all, to a part of the sit-
tings. No one can read facts in a mind before they get into
that mind!

The sittings continued in weekly sessions, with
Colonel McGowan rapidly becoming our “star” visitor.

Sitting of September 1st, 1953

Question: What was your rank at the end of the war?
McGowan: That was on paper. . .made to serve.

Question: Did you become a general?

McGowan: Naw. . .honors. . .1 take empty honors.

Question: When you went to school, what did you study?
McGowan: The law of the land.

Question: What happened at Manassas?

McGowan: Oh... defeat. Defeat.

Question: What happened to you personally at Manassas?
McGowan: Ah, cut, cut. Bayonets. Ah. Blood, blood.
Question: What happened at Malvern Hill?

McGowan: Success. We took the house. Low brick build-
ing. We wait. They come up and we see right in the
mouth of a cannon. 1864. They burned the house around
our ears. But we didn’t move. v

Question: What was under your command at that time?
McGowan: Two divisions.

Question: How many regiments?

McGowan: Four. . .forty. . .(Four?) TEEN!

Question: What did you command?

McGowan: My commander was shot down, I take over.
(Who for?) John. . .Major. ...

Question: Listen, Colonel, your name is not Edward. Is
there any other first or middle name you used? (Silence)

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
68

Did anyone of high rank serve from South Carolina? (My
brother William) Anyone else? (Paul)

McGowan: Do you think of Charles McGowan? That was
no relation of mine. He was on the waterfront. He
was... exporter.

Question: Were you at Gettysburg, Colonel? (Yes.) What
regiments were under your command then?

McGowan: I had a wound at Gettysburg. I was very tom.
(Where did you get the wound?) Atlanta. . .change of rank.
Empty honors (About his son Gregory) Seymour. . .many
years Lowell, Massachusetts, and then he went back down
South, Seymour, South Carolina, and sometimes West
Virginia. . .he was in a store, he left and then he came into
property, mother also had property, down there near
Charleston in West Virginia. . .that is where he is, yes.

Question: You say your father was Frederick? (Yes.) Who
was William. (My brother.) Who was Samuel? (Long
pause, stunned, then: I wrote that name!) Why didn’t you
tell us? (Crying: I didn t want to tell — ) Tell us your true
rank, too. (I don’t care what it was). Please don’t evade us.
What was your rank? (Brigadier. . .General). Then you are
General Samuel McGowan?

McGowan: You made me very unhappy .. .such a name
(crying). . .blood, empty honors. . . .

Question: Who was James Johnson? (My commander.)
What happened to him? (Indicates he was shot.) Who took
over for Johnson? (I did.) What regiment was it?

McGowan: I don’t know the figures. . .1 don’t know.
Question: Your relative in New York, what was his name?
McGowan: Peter Paul.

Question: What was his profession?

McGowan: A doctor. (Any particular kind of doctor?)

Cuts. (What kind?) (McGowan points to face.) (Nose doc-
tor?) (McGowan points to mouth and shakes head.)

(Mouth doctor?) (McGowan violently grabs his teeth and
shakes them.) (Oh, teeth? A dentist) (McGowan nods
assent.)

Question: I will name some regiments, tell me if any of
them mean anything to you. The 10th. . .the 34th. . .the
14th. ..(McGowan reacts?) The 14th? Does it mean any-
thing to you?

McGowan: I don t know, figures don’t mean anything on
this side....

SOME INTERESTING FACTS
BROUGHT OUT BY RESEARCH

In the sitting of August 1 8th, McGowan stated his land-
lord was a woman and that her name was “Elsie” or L. C.
The Hall of Records of New York City lists the owner of
226 Fifth Avenue as "Isabella S. Clarke, from 1853 to (at
least) March 1, 1871.” In the same sitting, McGowan
stated that Pat Duffy was the man who actually came to

The house today

collect the rent, working for the landlady. Several days after
this information was voluntarily received from the entity, I
found in Trow’s New York Directory for 1869/70:

Page 195: ‘‘Clark, Isabella, wid. Constantine h.

(house) 45 Cherry.”

Page 309: “Duffy, Patrick, laborer, 45 Cherry.”

This could be known only to someone who actually
knew these people, 80 years ago; it proved our ghost was
there in 1873!

The sitting of September 1st also proved fruitful.

A “Peter McGowan, dentist, 253 W. 13 St.” appears
in Trow’s New York City Directory for 1870/71.

J. F. J. Caldwell, in his "History of a Brigade of South
Carolinians known first as Gregg 's, and subsequently as
McGowan’s Brigade,” (Philadelphia, 1866) reports:

Page 10: “The 14th Regiment South Carolina Volun-
teers selected for field officers. . .Col. James Jones, Lt. Col.
Samuel McGowan. . .(1861).”

Page 12: “Colonel Samuel McGowan commands the
14th Regiment.”

Page 18: “McGowan arrives from the Chicka-
hominy river (under Lee).”

Page 24: “Conspicuous gallantry in the battle of
Malvern Hill.”

Page 37: “...of the 11 field officers of our brigade,
seven were wounded: Col. McGowan, etc. (in the 2nd bat-
tle of Manassas) . ”

Page 53: “Col. Samuel McGowan of the 14th Regi-
ment (at Fredericksburg).”

Page 60: “The 13th and 14th regiments under
McGowan....”

Page 61: “Gen. Gregg’s death Dec. 14, 1862.
McGowan succeeds to command.”

Page 66: “Biography: Born Laurens district, S.C.

1820. Graduated 1841 South Carolina College, Law; in
Mexican War, then settled as lawyer in Abbeville, S.C.
Became a Brig. Gen. January 20, 1863, assists in taking Ft.
Sumter April 1861; but lapsing commission as General in
State Militia, he becomes Lt. Col. in the Confederate
Army, takes part at Bull Run, Manassas Plains, under
Gen. Bonham. Then elected Lt. Col. of 14th Regiment,
S.C.; Spring 1862, made full Col. succeeding Col. Jones who
was killed. McGowan is wounded in battle of Manassas.”
Biographer Caldwell, who was McGowan's aide as a lieu-
tenant, says (in 1866) “he still lives.”

Page 79: "April 29, 1863, McGowan’s Brigade gets
orders to be ready to march. Gen. McGowan commands
the brigade.”

Page 80: “Wounded again (Fredericksburg).”

Page 89: "Gen. Lee reviews troops including
McGowan’s. Brigade now consists of 1st, 12th, 13th, 14th
Regiments and Orr’s Rifles. Also known as ‘McGowan’s
Sharpshooters.”'

Page 91: “McGowan takes part in battle of
Chancellorsville

Page 96: “Battle of Gettysburg: McGowan commands
13th, 12th, 14th, and 1st.”

Page 110: "McGowan near Culpepper Courthouse.”

Page 122: “Gen. McGowan returned to us in Febru-
ary (1864). He had not sufficiently recovered from the

The Fifth Avenue Ghost

wound received at Chancellorsville to walk well, but
remained with us and discharged all the duties of his
office.”

Page 125: About Butler: ‘‘Butler to lead column
(against McGowan) from the Eastern coast.” Another
Butler (Col.) commanded the Confederate 1st Regt. (Battle
of Chickamauga)

Page 126sq.: “Battle of Spottsyl vania, May 1864.”
Page 133: “Gen. Lee and Gen. Hill were there
(defeat).”

Page 142: “McGowan wounded by a 'minie ball,’ in
the right arm, quits field.”

But to continue with our sittings, and with
McGowan’s personal recollections —

Sitting of September 8th, 1953

McGowan: (speaking again of his death) It was in the
forties. . .they killed me on the top floor. They dragged me
up, that ‘man of color’ named Walter. He was a giant of a
man. She was a virtuous woman, I tell you she was. But
they would not believe it.

I wanted to get his reaction to a name I had found in
the records, so I asked, “Have you ever met a
McWilliams?”

McGowan: You have the knowledge of the devil with you.
Her family name.

Question: Did you stay in New York until your passing?

McGowan: 1869, 1873. Back and forth. I have written to
Lee, Jackson, James, and Beaufort. 1862-63, March.

Question: What did you do at the end of the war?

McGowan: Back and forth, always on the go. Property was
gone, ruined. Plantations burned. I did not work. I could
not. Three or four bad years. I quit. My wits, my wits. My
uncle. The house was burned in Charleston. Sometimes
Columbia. (Then, of Mignon, his wife, he says) She died
in 1892. . .Francois Guychone. . .he was so good to little
boys, he made excursions in the Bay of Charleston — we
sailed in boats. He was my uncle.

Sitting of September 15th, 1953

I asked, what did he look like in his prime.

McGowan: I wasn’t too bad to look at, very good brow,
face to the long, and at one time I indulged in the
whiskers. . .not so long, for the chin. . .colonial. . .1 liked to
see my chin a good deal, sometimes I cover (indicates mus-
tache)

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
70

Question: What can you tell us about the cemetery in
Abbeville?

McGowan: There is a monument, the family cemetery. . .
nobody cared. . .my father was born the fifth of January. . . .
(What was on your tombstone?) Samuel Edward
McGowan, born. . .32?. . .died 1883? 1873? 1-8-7 hard to
read, so dirty., .age 40. . .41 . ..gray-brown stars. . .bat-
tered.. . . I go between the bushes, I look at the monument
it's defaced....

Question: What news did your family give out of your
death?

McGowan: Foul play. (What happened to the body?)
Cremated I guess, I think in this city. The remains were

destroyed: not in the grave, a monument to a memory

(What did they tell the public?) Lost forever. . .1 could
have been at sea. . .house was destroyed by fire. . . . (Do you
mean there is no official record of your death?) No. Not
identical to passing, they never told the exact month or
day... I see... 1879... very blurred... September 4th. ...

Question: Were you ever injured in an argument?

McGowan : I spent much time on my back because of a
wound. . .on my head. (An argument?) Yes. (With whom?)
A man. Hand to hand. Rapier — Glen, Glen. . .Ardmore.

Sitting of September 22nd, 1953

"Mother” Marie Guychone spoke briefly in French and
was followed by McGowan. He said he was at one time “an
associate Justice” in the city of Columbia.

Here again do I wish to report some more research
information bearing on this part of the investigation.

Evans, in his Confederate Military History, 1899* has a pic-
ture of the General which became available to us after the
September 22nd sitting. His biography, on page 414, men-
tions the fact that “he was associate Justice of the (State)
Supreme Court.” Curiously, this author also states that
McGowan died in "December 1893.” Careful scrutiny of
two major New York dailies then existing ( Post and Times)
brought to light that the author of the Confederate Military
History made a mistake, albeit an understandable one. A
certain Ned McGowan, described as a “notorious character,
aged 80” had died in San Francisco on December 9, 1893.
This man was also a Confederate hero. (The New York
Times, XII/9). However, the same source ( The New York
Times, August 13, 1897) reports General McGowan’s death
as having occurred on the 9th of August, 1897. The obitu-
ary contains the facts already noted in the biography
quoted earlier, plus one interesting additional detail, that
McGowan received a cut across the scalp in a duel.

Another good source, The Dictionary of American
Biography, says of our subject: “McGowan, Samuel. Son of
William and Jeannie McGowan, law partner of William H.
Parker. Died August 9, 1897 in Abbeville. Buried in Long

*Vol. V., p. 409.

Cane Cemetery in Abbeville. Born Oct. 9, 1819 in
Crosshill section of Laurens district, S. C. Mother’s name
was McWilliams. Law partner of Perrin in Abbeville. Rep-
resentative in State House of South Carolina. Elected to
Congress, but not seated."

A Colonel at Gettysburg, by Varina Brown, about her
late husband Colonel Brown, contains the following: “In
the battle of Jericho Mills, ‘Griffin’s Division' of Federals
wrought havoc against McGowan’s Brigade.”

Correspondence with Mrs. William Gaynes, a resident
of Abbeville, revealed on October 1st, 1953 — "The old
general was a victim of the failing mind but he was doctored
up until the date of his death. He was attended by his
cousin Dr. F. E. Harrison."

Eminent & Representative Men of South Carolina by
Brant & Fuller (Madison, Wisconsin, 1892) gives this
picture:

Samuel McGowan was born of Scotch Irish parents in
Laurens County, S. C. on October 9th, 1819. Graduated
with distinction from the South Carolina College in
1841. Read law at Abbeville withT. C. Perrin who
offered him a partnership. He entered the service as a
private and went to Mexico with the Palmetto Regi-
ment. He was appointed on the general Quartermaster’s
Staff with the rank of Captain. After the war he
returned to Abbeville and resumed the practice of law
withT. C. Perrin. He married Susan Caroline, eldest
daughter of Judge David Lewis Wardlaw and they lived
in Abbeville until some years after the death of Gen.
McGowan in 1897. The home of Gen. McGowan still
stands in Abbeville and was sold some time ago to the
Baptist Church for 50,000 dollars. ... After the war he
entered law practice with William H. Parker
(1869/1879) in Abbeville. He took an interest in political
affairs. . .member of the Convention that met in Colum-
bia in September, 1865. Elected to Congress but not
allowed to take his seat. Counted out on the second
election two years later. In 1878 he was a member of the
State Legislature and in 1 879 he was elected Associate
Justice of the State Supreme Court.

General McGowan lived a long and honorable life in
* Abbeville. He was a contributing member of the Episcopal

Church, Trinity, and became a member later in life.

At his death the following appeared in the Abbeville
Medium, edited by Gen. R. R. Hemphill who had
served in McGowan’s Brigade. "General Samuel
McGowan died at his home in this city at 8:35 o’clock
last Monday morning August 8th. Full of years and

i honors he passed away surrounded by his family and

friends. He had been in declining health for some time
and suffered intense pain, though his final sickness was
for a few days only and at the end all was Peace.

Impressive services were held in Trinity Church Tuesday
afternoon, at four o’clock, the procession starting from
the residence. At the Church, the procession... preceded
by Dr. Wm. M. Grier and Bishop Ellison Capers who
read the solemn service. . .directly behind the coffin old
Daddy Willis Marshall, a colored man who had served
him well, bore a laurel wreath. Gen. McGowan was

buried at Long Lane, cemetery and there is a handsome
stone on the plot.”

Mrs. William Gaynes further reports:

Gen. McGowan had a 'fine line of profanity’ and
used it frequently in Court. He was engaged in a duel
once with Col. John Cunningham and was wounded
behind one ear and came near passing out. Col. Cun-
ningham challenged Col. Perrin who refused the chal-
lenge on the ground that he did not approve of dueling,
and Gen. McGowan took up the challenge and the duel
took place at Sand Bar Ferry, near Augusta, with
McGowan being wounded.

As far as I know, there was never any difficulty
between Mrs. McGowan and the old General. His
father-in-law, Judge Wardlaw, married Sarah Rebecca
Allen, and her mother was Mary Lucia Garvey.

In other words, Judge Wardlaw married Sarah
Garvey.

Mrs. Gaynes continues: "I have seen him frequently
on his way to his law office, for he had to pass right by our
office. If he ever was out of town for any length of time,
Abbeville did not know it."

The inscription on Samuel McGowan’s tombstone in
Long Cane Graveyard reads as follows:

“Samuel McGowan, born Laurens County 9 October
1819. Died in Abbeville 9 August 1897. Go soldier to thy
honored rest, thy trust and honor valor bearing. The brave
are the tenderest, the loving are the daring.”

Side 2: “From humble birth he rose to the highest
honor in Civic and military life. A patriot and a leader of
men. In peace his country called him, he waited not to her
call in war. A man’s strength, a woman’s tenderness, a
child’s simplicity were his and his a heart of charity fulfill-
ing the law of love. He did good and not evil all the days
of his life and at its end his country his children and his
children’s children rise up and call him blessed. In Mexi-
can War 1846-1848. A Captain in United States Army.
The Confederate War 1861-1865. A Brigadier General
C.S.A. Member of the Legislature 1848-1850. Elected to
Congress 1866. Associate Justice of Supreme Court of
South Carolina 1878-1894. A hero in two wars. Seven
times wounded. A leader at the Bar, a wise law giver, a
righteous judge. He rests from his labors and his works do
follow him.”

McGOWAN BECOMES A “REGULAR”

OF THE WEEKLY SITTINGS

General McGowan had by now become an always impa-
tient weekly "guest” at our sittings, and he never liked the
idea of leaving. Whenever it was suggested that time was

The Fifth Avenue Ghost

running short, McGowan tried to prolong his stay by
becoming suddenly very talkative.

Sitting of September 29th, 1953

A prepared list of eight names, all fictitious but one (the
sixth is that of Susan Wardlaw, McGowan’s wife) is read
to him several times. McGowan reacts to two of the nonex-
istent names, but not to the one of his wife. One of the fic-
titious names is John D. Sumter, to which McGowan
mumbles, “Colonel.” Fact is, there was a Colonel Sumter
in the Confederate Army!

McGowan also described in detail the farm where his
son Gregory now lives. Asked about the name Guychone,
he says it comes from Louisiana; Mignon, on her mother’s
side, had it. He identifies his hometown newspapers as
“Star-Press.” (“Star-Press, paper, picture, Judge, Columbia,
picture in paper....”)

Question: Who was Dr. Harrison?

McGowan: Family doctor.

Question: Is your home in Abbeville still standing?

McGowan: It isn’t what it was. Strange pictures and things.
(Anyone live in it?) No. Strange things, guns and cannons.

Sitting of October 14th, 1953

McGowan says he had two daughters. Trying again to read
his tombstone, he says, "1887, or is it 97?” As to his birth
year, he reads, “1821. ...31?”

Sitting of October 20th, 1953

When the control introduces McGowan, there is for sever-
al moments intense panic and fear brought on by a metal
necklace worn by the medium. When McGowan is assured
that there is no longer any “rope around his neck,” he
calms down, and excuses himself for his regression.

Question: Who was the Susan you mentioned the last time?
McGowan: The mother of my children.

Question: What was her other name?

McGowan: Cornelia.

Question: Were you elected to Congress?

McGowan: What kind of Congress? (The U. S. Congress.)

I lost. Such a business, everybody grabs, everybody
steals. . . . Somebody always buys the votes and it’s such a
mess.

Question: Are Mignon and Susan one and the same person
or not?

McGowan: I don’t wish to commit myself. (I insist.) They
are not!

Question; Let us talk about Susan. What profession did
your father-in-law follow?

McGowan: Big man. . .in the law.

Question: What was your mother-in-law’s first name?
McGowan: Sarah.

Question: Did she have another name?

McGowan: Garfey . . . .

Question: Coffee? Spell it.

McGowan: Not coffee. Garvey!

At a sitting on October 28th, 1953, at the home of
Mrs. Meyers, McGowan’s alleged grandson, Billy, mani-
fested himself as follows:

"My name is William, I passed in 1949, at
Charleston. I’m a grandson of General McGowan. I was
born in Abbeville, January 2nd, 1894. Gregory is half-
brother, son of the French bitch. He (McGowan) would
have married her, but he had a boss, grandfather, who held
the purse strings. Susan’s father of Dutch blood, hard-
headed.”

Sitting of October 29th, 1953

McGowan: You must find Gregory. He may be surprised
about his father, but I must let him know I wanted for
him, and they took for them. . .all. And they gave him noth-
ing. Nothing! I had made other plans. (Was there a will?)
There was. . .but I had a Judge in the family that made
other plans. . .They WERE not mine! You must tell
Gregory I provided. . . . I tell you only the truth because I
was an honest man. . .1 did the best for my family, for my
people, for those I considered my countrymen, that what
you now call posterity. . .1 suffer my own sins. ... For you
maybe it means nothing, for me, for those who remember
me, pity . . .they are now aware of the truth, only now is
my son unaware of the truth. Sir, you are my best friend.
And I go into hell for you. I tell you always the truth, sir,
but there are things that would not concern you or any-
body. But I will give you those names yet!

Question: I ask again for the name of McGowan’s father-
in-law.

McGowan: Wida. . .Wider.

THE “GHOST” IS FREED

One of the functions of a “rescue circle” is to make sure a
disturbed entity does not return to the scene of his unhap-
piness. This mission was accomplished here.

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
72

Sitting of November 3rd, 1953

McGowan : I see the house where I lived, you know, where
you found me. I go there now, but I am not anymore dis-
turbed. I found my mother and my father. They could not
touch me, but now, we touch hands. I live over my life,
come back to many things. Herman! He was a good soul,
he helped me when I was down in Atlanta. He bathed my
feet, my legs were scorched, and he was good to me, and he
is over here. I thank him. 1 thanked him then, but I was
the big man, and he was nothing, but now I see he is a fine
gentleman, he polished my boots, he put my uniform in
order.

Sitting of November 6th, 1953

I was alone with the medium, Mrs. Meyers, at her home,
when I had a chance to question McGowan about his
apparent murder, and the “conspiracy of silence" concern-
ing it.

McGowan: The Judge protected them, did not report my
death. They had devised the kidnapping. I was murdered
downstairs, strangled by the kidnapper Walter. He took
her (Mignon) all the way to Boston. ! wore the uniform of
Damyankees (during the war), rode a horse every night to
Boston. . .no, I made a mistake. I came to my Uncle Peter
Paul in New York, I had a letter from Marie Guychone,
she was in New York. Begged me to find Mignon and Gre-
gory. I come to New York. I can’t find her, she was in
Boston then, but I didn’t know that until later. Marie Guy-
chone remained with my uncle, and I gave up the chase,
and like a thief crawled back to Confederate grounds. That
was in 1863. After the war, there was a struggle, property
was worthless, finally the Union granted that we withdraw
our holdings, and with that I came to New York. My
mother and father came also, until rehabilitation was suffi-
cient for their return.

I continued to live with my wife, Susan, and the chil-
dren, and I found Mignon. She had escaped, and came to
her mother in New York. I made a place for them to live
with my uncle and when my wife returned to stay with her
father (the Judge), I had Mignon, but she was pregnant
and she didn’t know it, and there was a black child — there
was unpleasantness between us, I didn’t know if it were
mine and Mignon was black, but it was not so, it was his
child (Walter’s), and he came for it and for her, he traced
her to my house (on Fifth Avenue); my father-in-law (the
Judge) was the informer, and he (Walter) strangled me, he
was a big man.

And when I was not dead yet, he dragged me up the
stairs. Mignon was not present, not guilty. I think. . .it was
in January 1874. But I may be mistaken about time. Gre-
gory had two sons, William and Edward. William died on
a boat in the English Channel in 1918. Gregory used the

name Fogarty, not McGowan. The little black boy died,
they say. It was just as well for him.

McGowan then left peacefully, promising more infor-
mation about the time lag between his given date and that
officially recorded. I told him the difference was "about
twenty years.” For the first time, McGowan had stated his
story reasonably, although some details of it would be hard
to check. No murder or suicide was reported in the news-
papers of the period, similar to this case. But of course
anyone planning a crime like this might have succeeded in
keeping it out of the public eye. We decided to continue
our sittings.

Sitting of November 10th, 1953

McGowan talked about the duel he fought, which cost him
his hair, due to a wound on the left side, back and top of
his head. It was over a woman and against a certain
Colonel C., something like "Collins,” but a longer name.
He said that Perry or Perrin did so make a stand, as if
someone had doubted it!

MORE PROOF TURNS UP!

Leading away from personal subjects, the questioning now
proceeded toward matters of general interest about New
York at the time of McGowan’s residence here. The
advantage of this line of questioning is its neutral value for
research purposes; and as no research was undertaken until
after the sittings of November 17th, mental telepathy must
be excluded as an alternate explanation!

Sitting of November 17th, 1953

McGowan: You don’t have a beard. They called them
milksops in my days, the beardless boys!

Question: What did they call a man who was a nice dresser
and liked ladies?

McGowan: A Beau Brummel.

Question: What did they call a gentleman who dressed too
well, too fancifully?

McGowan: A fop.

Question: What was your favorite sport?

McGowan: Billiards (He explains he was good at it, and the
balls were made of cloth.)

Question: What was the favorite game of your day?
McGowan: They played a Cricket kind of game.. . .

Question : Who was mayor of New York?

McGowan: Oh. . .Grace. Grace. ..Edmond. . .Grace. . .
something like it.

The Fifth Avenue Ghost

William R. Grace was mayor of New York,
1881-1882, and Franklin Edson (not Edmond) followed,
1883-1884. Also, plastic billiard balls as we know them
today are a comparatively recent invention, and billiard
balls in the Victorian era were indeed made of cloth. The
cricket kind of game must be baseball. Beau Brummel, fop,
milksop are all authentic Victorian expressions.

Sitting of November 26th, 1953

I asked the General about trains in New York in his time.

McGowan: They were smoke stacks, up in the air, smoke
got in your eyes, they went down to the Globe Building
near City Hall. The Globe building was near Broadway
and Nassau. The train went up to Harlem. It was a nice
neighborhood. I took many strolls in the park.

Question: Where was the Hotel Waldorf-Astoria?
McGowan: Near Fifth Avenue and 33rd, near my
house. . .and the Hotel Prince George. Restaurants were Ye
Olde Southern, Hotel Brevoort. You crack my brain, you
are worse than that boss in the Big House, Mr. Tammany
and Mr. Tweed. (I discussed his house, and he mentioned
doing business with — ) Somebody named Costi. . .1 paid
$128.50 a month for the entire house. A suit of clothes cost
$100.00.

Question: Who lived next door to you?

McGowan: Herman. . .was a carriage smith. He had a busi-
ness where he made carriages. He lived next door, but his
business was not there, the shop was on Third Avenue,
Third Street, near the river.

Question: Any other neighbors?

McGowan: Corrigan Brown, a lawyer. . .lived three houses
down. The editor of the Globe was White. . . Stone . . .

White . . . the editor of the Globe was not good friends with
the man in the Big House. They broke his house down
when he lived on Fifth Avenue. He was a neighbor. Her-
man the carriage maker made good carriages. I bought one
with fringes and two seats, a cabrio. . . .

Question: Did you have a janitor?

McGowan: There was a black boy named Ted, mainly col-
ored servants, we had a gardener, white, named Patrick.

He collects the rent, he lives with the Old Crow on Cherry
Street. Herman lives next door. He had a long mustache
and square beard. He wore a frock coat, a diamond tie pin,
and spectacles. I never called him Herman. . .(trying to
remember his true name). . .Gray. . .1 never called him
Herman. He had a wife named Birdie. His wife had a sister
named Finny who lived there too. . .Mrs. Finny. . .she was a
young widow with two children. . .she was a good friend to
my Susan.

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
74

McGowan then reluctantly signs his name as
requested.

* * *

Research, undertaken after the sitting, again excluded
mental telepathy. The facts were of a kind not likely to be
found in the records, unless one were specifically looking
for them!

The New York Globe building, which McGowan
remembers "near Broadway and Nassau,” was then (1873)
at 7 Square Street and apparently also at 162 Nassau
Street. The Globe is on Spruce, and Globe and Evening
Press on Nassau, around the corner.

McGowan describes the steam-powered elevated rail-
road that went from City Hall to Harlem. Steam cars
started in 1867 and ran until 1906, according to the New
York Historical Society, and there were two lines fitting his
description, "Harlem, From Park Row to. . .E. 86th Street”
and "Third Avenue, from Ann Street through Park Row
to. . .Harlem Bridge.”1 McGowan was right in describing
Harlem as a nice neighborhood in his day.

McGowan also acknowledged at once that he had
been to the Waldorf-Astoria, and correctly identified its
position at Fifth Avenue and 33rd Street. The Waldorf-
Astoria came into being on March 14th, 1893. Conse-
quently, McGowan was alive then, and evidently sane, if he
could visit such places as the Waldorf, Brevoort, and
others.

McGowan refers to a (later) landlord as Costi. In
1895, a real-estate firm by the name of George and John
Coster was situated at 173 Fifth Avenue, a few houses
down the street from McGowan’s place.*

As for the carriage smith named Herman, a little later
referred to as Herman Gray, there was a carriage maker
named William H. Gray from 1872 or earlier, and existing
beyond the turn of the century, whose shop was at first at
20 Wooster Street, and who lived at 258 West Fourth
Street, until at least 1882. In 1895 he is listed as living at
275 West 94th Street. Not all Troy volumes in between are
available, so that residence in McGowan’s neighborhood
can neither be confirmed nor denied. At one time, Gray’s
shops were on West Broadway. As for Corrigan Brown,
the lawyer neighbor, McGowan’s mispronouncing of names
almost tripped me up. There was no such lawyer. There
was, however, one Edmond Congar Brown, lawyer, listed
for the first time as such in 1886, and before that only as a
clerk. No home is, unfortunately, listed for his later
years. ,f McGowan stated that the editor of the Globe was

Trow’s New York City Directory for 1872/73, p. 448 regular sec-
tion and p. 38 City Register section.

Ibid, City Register, p. 18, under “City Railroads.”

*Trow, 1895/96, p. 550.

+ Trow, 1872/73, City Register, p. 27.

Trow, 1895/96, p. 174, lists his office as 132 Nassau.

named White -and -something, and that he lived near his
(McGowan’s) house on Fifth Avenue.

Well, one Horace P. Whitney, editor, business, 128
Fulton Street, home, 287 Fifth Avenue, is listed in Trow.
And 128 Fulton Street is the place of the Globe’s competi-
tor, the New York Mercury, published by Cauldwell and
Whitney.

*1872, p. 1287, regular section.

Trow i i872i City Register section, p. 39.

* * *

That McGowan did not die in 1873 seems certain to
me, as the above information proves. But if he did not die
in 1873, something very traumatic must have been done to
him at that time. Or perhaps the murder, if such it was,
took place in 1897?

It could well be that General McGowan will take this
ultimate secret with him into the Great Land where he now
dwells safely forever.

* 5

The Case of the Murdered Financier

I REMEMBER THE NIGHT we went to visit the house where
financier Serge Rubinstein was killed. It was a year after his
death but only I, among the group, had knowledge of the
exact date of the anniversary. John Latouche, my much-
too-soon departed friend, and I picked up Mrs. Meyers at
her Westside home and rode in a taxi to Fifth Avenue and
60th Street. As a precaution, so as not to give away the
address which we were headed for, we left the taxi two
blocks south of the Rubinstein residence.

Our minds were careful blanks, and the conversation
was about music. But we didn’t fool our medium. “What’s
the pianist doing here?” she demanded to know. What
pianist, I countered. “Rubinstein,” said she. For to our
medium, a professional singing teacher, that name could
only stand for the great pianist. It showed that our medium
was, so to speak, on-the-beam, and already entering into
the “vibration,” or electrically charged atmosphere of the
haunting.

Latouche and I looked at each other in amazement.
Mrs. Meyers was puzzled by our sudden excitement.
Without further delay, we rang the bell at the stone man-
sion, hoping the door would open quickly so that we would
not be exposed to curiosity -seekers who were then still
hanging around the house where one of the most publi-
cized murders had taken place just a year before, to the
hour.

It was now near midnight, and my intention had
been to try and make contact with the spirit of the
departed. I assumed, from the manner in which he died,
that Serge Rubinstein might still be around his house, and
I had gotten his mother’s permission to attempt the
contact.

The seconds on the doorstep seemed like hours, as
Mrs. Meyers questioned me about the nature of tonight’s
“case.” I asked her to be patient, but when the butler came
and finally opened the heavy gate, Mrs. Meyers suddenly
realized where we were. "It isn’t the pianist, then!” she
mumbled, somewhat dazed. "It’s the other Rubinstein!”

With these words we entered the forbidding-looking
building for an evening of horror and ominous tension.

The murder is still officially unsolved, and as much
an enigma to the world as it was on that cold winter night,
in 1955, when the newspaper headlines screamed of “bad
boy” financier Serge Rubinstein’s untimely demise. That
night, after business conferences and a night on the town
with a brunette, Rubinstein had some unexpected visitors.
Even the District Attorney couldn’t name them for sure,
but there were suspects galore, and the investigation never
ran out of possibilities.

Evidently Serge had a falling-out with the brunette,
Estelle Gardner, and decided the evening was still young,
so he felt like continuing it with a change of cast. Another
woman, Pat Wray, later testified that Rubinstein tele-
phoned her to join him after he had gotten rid of Estelle,
and that she refused.

The following morning, the butler, William Morter,
found Rubinstein dead in his third-floor bedroom. He was
wearing pajamas, and evidently the victim of some form of
torture — for his arms and feet were tied, and his mouth
and throat thickly covered by adhesive tape. The medical
examiner dryly ruled death by strangulation.

The police found themselves with a first-rate puzzle
on their hands. Lots of people wanted to kill Rubinstein,
lots of people had said so publicly without meaning it — but
who actually did? The financier’s reputation was not the
best, although it must be said that he did no more nor less
than many others; but his manipulations were neither ele-
gant nor quiet, and consequently, the glaring light of pub-
licity and exposure created a public image of a monster
that did not really fit the Napoleonic-looking young man
from Paris.

Rubinstein was a possessive and jealous man. A tiny
microphone was placed by him in the apartment of Pat
Wray, sending sound into a tape recorder hidden in a car
parked outside the building. Thus, Rubinstein was able to
monitor her every word!

Obviously, his dealings were worldwide, and there
were some 2,000 names in his private files.

The Case of the Murdered Financier

The usual sensational news accounts had been seen in
the press the week prior to our seance, but none of them
contained anything new or definite. Mrs. Meyers’ knowl-
edge of the case was as specific as that of any ordinary
newspaper reader.

* * *

We were received by Serge’s seventy-nine-year-old
mother, Stella Rubinstein; her sister, Eugenia Forrester; the
Rubinstein attorney, Ennis; a female secretary; a guard
named Walter, and a newspaper reporter from a White
Russian paper, Jack Zwieback. After a few moments of
polite talk downstairs — that is, on the second floor where
the library of the sumptuous mansion was located — I sug-
gested we go to the location of the crime itself.

We all rose, when Mrs. Meyers suddenly stopped in
her tracks. “I feel someone’s grip on my arm,” she
commented.

We went upstairs without further incident.

The bedroom of the slain financier was a medium-
size room in the rear of the house, connected with the front
sitting room through a large bathroom. We formed a circle
around the bed, occupying the center of the room. The
light was subdued, but the room was far from dark. Mrs.
Meyers insisted on sitting in a chair close to the bed, and
remarked that she “was directed there.”

Gradually her body relaxed, her eyes closed, and the
heavy, rhythmic breathing of onsetting trance was heard in
the silence of the room, heavily tensed with fear and appre-
hension of what was to come.

Several times, the medium placed her arm before her
face, as if warding off attacks; symptoms of choking dis-
torted her face and a struggle seemed to take place before
our eyes!

Within a few minutes, this was over, and a new,
strange voice came from the lips of the medium. ‘‘I can
speak. . .over there, they’re coming!” The arm pointed
toward the bathroom.

I asked who “they” were.

"They’re no friends. . .Joe, Stan. . .cheap girl. . .in
the door, they — ” The hand went to the throat, indicating
choking.

Then, suddenly, the person in command of the
medium added: “The woman should be left out. There was
a calendar with serial numbers. . .box numbers, but they
can’t get it! Freddie was here, too!”

“What was in the box?”

“Fourteen letters. Nothing for the public.”

"Give me more information.”

“Baby-Face. . .1 don’t want to talk too
much... they'll pin it on Joe.”

"Flow many were there?”

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
76

“Joe, Stan, and Freddie... stooges. Her bosses’
stooges! London. . .let me go, let me go. . I’m too frantic
here... not up here... I’ll come again.”

With a jolt, the medium awoke from her trance. Per-
spiration stood on her forehead, although the room was
cold. Not a word was said by the people in the room. Mrs.
Meyers leaned back and thought for a moment.

“I feel a small, stocky man here, perverted minds,
and there is fighting all over the room. He is being sur-
prised by the bathroom door. They were hiding in the next
room, came through this window and fire escape.”

We descended again to the library, where we had
originally assembled. The conversation continued quietly,
when suddenly Mrs. Meyers found herself rapidly slipping
into trance again.

“Three men, one wiry and tall, one short and very
stocky, and one tall and stout — the shorter one is in
charge. Then there is Baby-Face. . .she has a Mona Lisa-
like face. Stan is protected. I had the goods on them. . . .
Mama’s right, it’s getting hot. ...”

"Give us the name!” I almost shouted. Tension
gripped us all.

The medium struggled with an unfamiliar sound.
“Kapoich. . .?” Then she added, “The girl here. . .poker
face.”

“But what is her name?”

“Ha ha... tyrant.”

When Mrs. Meyers came out of her trance, I ques-
tioned Rubinstein’s mother about the seance. She readily
agreed that the voice had indeed sounded much like her
late son’s. Moreover, there was that girl — named in the
investigation — who had a “baby face.” She never showed
emotion, and was, in fact, poker-faced all the time. Her
name?

"My son often called her his tyrant,” the mother
said, visibly shaken.

"What about the other names?”

"My son used a hired limousine frequently. The
chauffeur was a stocky man, and his name was Joe or Joey.
Stan? I have heard that name many times in business con-
versations. One of the men involved in the investigation
was named Kubitschek. Had the deceased tried to pro-
nounce that name?

A wallet once belonging to Serge had been handed to
Mrs. Meyers a few minutes before, to help her maintain
contact with the deceased. Suddenly, without warning, the
wallet literally flew out of her hands arid hit the high ceiling
of the library with tremendous impact.

Mrs. Meyers’ voice again sounded strange, as the late
financier spoke through her in anger. "Do you know how
much it costs to sell a man down the river?”

Nobody cared to answer. We had all had quite enough
for one evening!

We all left in different directions, and I sent a dupli-
cate of the seance transcript to the police, something I have
done with every subsequent seance as well. Mrs. Meyers

and I were never the only ones to know what transpired in
trance. The police knew, too, and if they did not choose to
arrest anyone, that was their business.

We were sure our seance had not attracted attention,
and Mrs. Rubinstein herself, and her people, certainly
would not spread the word of the unusual goings-on in the
Fifth Avenue mansion on the anniversary of the murder.

But on February 1 , Cholly Knickerbocker headlined
—"Serge’s Mother Holds A Seance”!

Not entirely accurate in his details — his source turned
out to be one of the guards — Mr. Cassini, nevertheless,
came to the point in stating: “To the awe of all present, no
less than four people were named by the medium. If this
doesn’t give the killers the chills, it certainly does us.”

We thought we had done our bit toward the solution
of this baffling murder, and were quite prepared to forget
the excitement of that evening. Unfortunately, the wraith
of Rubinstein did not let it rest at that.

During a routine seance then held at my house on
West 70th Street, he took over the medium’s personality,
and elaborated on his statements. He talked of his offices
in London and Paris, his staff, and his enemies. One of his
lawyers, Rubinstein averred, knew more than he dared
disclose!

I called Mrs. Rubinstein and arranged for another,
less public sitting at the Fifth Avenue house. This time
only the four of us, the two elderly ladies, Mrs. Meyers
and I, were present. Rubinstein’s voice was again recog-
nized by his mother.

“It was at 2:45 on the nose. 2:45!” he said, speaking
of the time of his death. “Pa took my hand, it wasn't so
bad. I want to tell the little angel woman here, I don’t
always listen like a son should — she told me always, ‘You
go too far, don’t take chances!”'

Then his voice grew shrill with anger. “Justice will be
done. I have paid for that.”

I asked, what did this fellow Joey, whom he men-
tioned the first time, do for a living?

“Limousines. He knew how to come. He brought
them here, they were not invited.”

He then added something about Houston, Texas, and
insisted that a man from that city was involved. He was
sure “the girl” would eventually talk and break the case.

There were a number of other sittings, at my house,
where the late Serge put his appearance into evidence.
Gradually, his hatred and thirst for revenge gave way to a
calmer acceptance of his untimely death. He kept us
informed of “poker face’s moves” — whenever “the girl”
moved, Serge was there to tell us. Sometimes his language
was rough, sometimes he held back.

“They’ll get Mona Lisa,” he assured me on March
30th, 1956. I faithfully turned the records of our seances
over to the police. They always acknowledged them, but
were not eager to talk about this help from so odd a source
as a psychical researcher!

Rubinstein kept talking about a Crown Street Head-
quarters in London, but we never were able to locate this
address. At one time, he practically insisted in taking his
medium with him into the street, to look for his murderers!
It took strength and persuasion for me to calm the restless
one, for I did not want Mrs. Meyers to leave the safety of
the big armchair by the fireplace, which she usually occu-
pied at our seances.

“Stan is on this side now,” he commented on April

13th.

I could never fathom whether Stan was his friend of
his enemy, or perhaps both at various times. Financier
Stanley died a short time after our initial seance at the
Fifth Avenue mansion.

Safe deposit boxes were mentioned, and numbers
given, but somehow Mrs. Rubinstein never managed to
find them.

On April 26th, we held another sitting at my house.
This time the spirit of the slain financier was particularly
restless.

“Vorovsky,” he mumbled, “yellow cab, he was paid
good for helping her get away from the house. Doug paid
him, he’s a friend of Charley's. Tell mother to hire a private
detective.”

I tried to calm him. He flared up at me. “Who’re you
talking to? The Pope?”

The next day, I checked these names with his
mother. Mrs. Rubinstein also assured me that the expres-
sion “who do you think I am — the Pope?” was one of his
favorite phrases in life!

“Take your nose down to Texas and you’ll find a
long line to London and Paris,” he advised us on May
10th.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Rubinstein increased the reward for
the capture of the murderer to $50,000. Still, no one was
arrested, and the people the police had originally ques-
tioned had all been let go. Strangely enough, the estate was
much smaller than at first anticipated. Was much money
still in hiding, perhaps in some unnamed safe deposit box?
We’ll never know. Rubinstein’s mother has gone on to join
him on the other side of the veil, too.

My last contact with the case was in November of
1961 , when columnist Hy Gardner asked me to appear on
his television program. We talked about the Rubinstein
seances, and he showed once more the eerie bit of film he
called “a collector’s item” — the only existing television
interview with Rubinstein, made shortly before his death in
1955.

The inquisitive reporter’s questions are finally parried
by the wily Rubinstein with an impatient — ’’Why, that’s
like asking a man about his own death!”

Could it be that Serge Rubinstein, in addition to all his
other “talents,” also had the gift of prophecy?

The Case of the Murdered Financier

# 6

The Rockland County Ghost*

In November 1951 the writer heard for the first time of
the haunted house belonging to the New York home of the
late Danton Walker, the well-known newspaper man.

Over a dinner table in a Manhattan restaurant, the
strange goings-on in the Rockland County house were dis-
cussed with me for the first time, although they had been
observed over the ten years preceding our meeting. The
manifestations had come to a point where they had forced
Mr. Walker to leave his house to the ghost and build him-
self a studio on the other end of his estate, where he was
able to live unmolested.

A meeting with Mrs. Garrett, the medium, was soon
arranged, but due to her indisposition, it had to be post-
poned. Despite her illness, Mrs. Garrett, in a kind of
"traveling clairvoyance,” did obtain a clairvoyant impres-
sion of the entity. His name was “Andreas,” and she felt
him to be rather attached to the present owner of the
house. These findings Mrs. Garrett communicated to Mr.
Walker, but nothing further was done on the case until the
fall of 1952. A "rescue circle” operation was finally orga-
nized on November 22, 1952, and successfully concluded
the case, putting the disturbed soul to rest and allowing
Mr. Walker to return to the main house without further
fear of manifestations.

Before noting the strange phenomena that have been
observed in the house, it will be necessary to describe this
house a bit, as the nature of the building itself has a great
deal to do with the occurrences.

Mr. Walker’s house is a fine example of colonial
architecture, of the kind that was built in the country dur-
ing the second half of the eighteenth century. Although
Walker was sure only of the first deed to the property,
dated 1813 and naming the Abrams family, of pre-Revolu-
tionary origin in the country, the house itself is unques-
tionably much older.

When Mr. Walker bought the house in the spring of
1942, it was in the dismal state of disrepair typical of some
dwellings in the surrounding Ramapo Mountains. It took
the new owner several years and a great deal of money to
rebuild the house to its former state and to refurbish it
with the furniture, pewter, and other implements of the
period. I am mentioning this point because in its present
state the house is a completely livable and authentic colo-
nial building of the kind that would be an entirely familiar
and a welcome sight to a man living toward the end of the
eighteenth century, were he to set foot into it today.

The house stands on a hill which was once part of a
farm. During the War for Independence, this location was

*Courtesy of Tomorrow, Vol. I, No. 3.

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
78

the headquarters of a colonial army. In fact, "Mad”
Anthony Wayne’s own headquarters stood near this site,
and the Battle of Stony Point (1779) was fought a few
miles away. Most likely, the building restored by Mr.
Walker was then in use as a fortified roadhouse, used both
for storage of arms, ammunitions, and food supplies, and
for the temporary lodging of prisoners.

After the house passed from the hands of the Abrams
family in the earlier part of the last century, a banker
named Dixon restored the farm and the hill, but paid scant
attention to the house itself. By and by, the house gave in
to the ravages of time and weather. A succession of moun-
tain people made it their living quarters around the turn of
the century, but did nothing to improve its sad state of dis-
repair. When Mr. Walker took over, only the kitchen and
a small adjoining room were in use; the rest of the house
was filled with discarded furniture and other objects. The
upstairs was divided into three tiny rooms and a small
attic, which contained bonnets, hoop skirts, and crudely
carved wooden shoe molds and toys, dating from about the
Civil War period.

While the house was being reconstructed, Mr.

Walker was obliged to spend nights at a nearby inn, but
would frequently take naps during the day on an army cot
upstairs. On these occasions he received distinct impres-
sions of "a Revolutionary soldier” being in the room.

Mr. Walker’s moving in, in the spring of 1942,
touched off the usual country gossip, some of which later
reached his ears. It seemed that the house was haunted.
One woman who had lived in the place told of an “old
man” who frightened the children, mysterious knocks at
the front door, and other mysterious happenings. But none
of these reports could be followed up. For all practical pur-
poses, we may say that the phenomena started with the
arrival of Mr. Walker.

Though Mr. Walker was acutely sensitive to the
atmosphere of the place from the time he took over, it was
not until 1944 that the manifestations resulted in both visi-
ble and audible phenomena. That year, during an after-
noon when he was resting in the front room downstairs, he
was roused by a violent summons to the front door, which
has a heavy iron knocker. Irritated by the intrusion when
no guest was expected, he called "Come in!,” then went to
the front door and found no one there.

About this time, Mr. Walker’s butler, Johnny,
remarked to his employer that the house was a nice place
to stay in “if they would let you alone.” Questioning
revealed that Johnny, spending the night in the house
alone, had gone downstairs three times during the night to
answer knocks at the front door. An Italian workman
named Pietro, who did some repairs on the house, reported
sounds of someone walking up the stairs in midafternoon
"with heavy boots on,” at a time when there definitely was
no one else in the place. Two occasional guests of the
owner also were disturbed, while reading in the living
room, by the sound of heavy footsteps overhead.

In 1950 Mr. Walker and his secretary were eating
dinner in the kitchen, which is quite close to the front
door. There was a sharp rap at the door. The secretary
opened it and found nobody there. In the summer of 1952,
when there were guests downstairs but no one upstairs,
sounds of heavy thumping were heard from upstairs, as if
someone had taken a bad fall.

Though Mr. Walker, his butler, and his guests never
saw or fancied they saw any ghostly figures, the manifesta-
tions did not restrict themselves to audible phenomena.
Unexplainable dents in pewter pieces occurred from time
to time. A piece of glass in a door pane, the same front
door of the house, was cracked but remained solidly in
place for some years. One day it was missing and could not
be located in the hall indoors, nor outside on the porch. A
week later this four -by -four piece of glass was accidentally
found resting on a plate rail eight feet above the kitchen
floor. How it got there is as much of a mystery now as it
was then.

On one occasion, when Johnny was cleaning the
stairs to the bedroom, a picture that had hung at the top of
the stairs for at least two years tumbled down, almost strik-
ing him. A woman guest who had spent the night on a
daybed in the living room, while making up the bed next
morning, was almost struck by a heavy pewter pitcher
which fell (“almost as if thrown at her”) from a bookshelf
hanging behind the bed. There were no unusual vibrations
of the house to account for these things.

On the white kitchen wall there are heavy semicircu-
lar black marks where a pewter salt box, used for holding
keys, had been violently swung back and forth. A large
pewter pitcher, which came into the house in perfect condi-
tion, now bears five heavy imprints, four on one side, one
on the other. A West Pointer with unusually large hands
fitted his own four fingers and thumb into the dents!

Other phenomena included gripping chills felt from
time to time by Mr. Walker and his more sensitive guests.
These chills, not to be confused with drafts, were also felt
in all parts of the house by Mr. Walker when alone. They
took the form of a sudden paralyzing cold, as distinct as a
cramp. Such a chill once seized him when he had been ill
and gone to bed early. Exasperated by the phenomenon, he
unthinkingly called out aloud, "Oh, for God’s sake, let me
alone!” The chill abruptly stopped.

But perhaps the most astounding incident took place
in November 1952, only a few days before the rescue circle
met at the house.

Two of Mr. Walker’s friends, down-to-earth men
with no belief in the so-called supernatural, were weekend
guests. Though Walker suggested that they both spend the
night in the commodious studio about three-hundred feet
from the main house, one of them insisted on staying
upstairs in the “haunted” room. Walker persuaded him to
leave the lights on.

An hour later, the pajama-clad man came rushing
down to the studio, demanding that Mr. Walker put an

end “to his pranks.” The light beside his bed was blinking
on and off. All other lights in the house were burning
steadily!

Assured that this might be caused by erratic power
supply and that no one was playing practical jokes, the
guest returned to the main house. But an hour or so later,
he came back to the studio and spent the rest of the night
there. In the morning he somewhat sheepishly told that he
had been awakened from a sound sleep by the sensation of
someone slapping him violently in the face. Sitting bolt
upright in bed, he noticed that the shirt he had hung on
the back of a rocking chair was being agitated by the
“breeze.” Though admitting that this much might have
been pure imagination, he also seemed to notice the chair
gently rocking. Since all upstairs windows were closed,
there definitely was no “breeze.”

“The sensation described by my guest,” Mr. Walker
remarked, “reminded me of a quotation from one of Edith
Wharton’s ghost stories. Here is the exact quote:

‘“Medford sat up in bed with a jerk which resembles
no other. Someone was in his room. The fact reached him
not by sight or sound. . .but by a peculiar faint disturbance
of the invisible currents that enclose us.’

“Many people in real life have experienced this sensa-
tion. I myself had not spent a night alone in the main
house in four years. It got so that I just couldn’t take it. In
fact, I built the studio specifically to get away from staying
there. When people have kidded me about my ‘haunted
house,’ my reply is, would I have spent so much time and
money restoring the house, and then built another house to
spend the night in, if there had not been some valid
reason?”

On many previous occasions, Mr. Walker had
remarked that he had a feeling that someone was trying
"desperately” to get into the house, as if for refuge. The
children of an earlier tenant had mentioned some agitation
“by the lilac bush” at the corner of the house. The original
crude walk from the road to the house, made of flat native
stones, passed this lilac bush and went to the well, which,
according to local legend, was used by soldiers in Revolu-
tionary times.

“When I first took over the place,” Mr. Walker
observed, "I used to look out of the kitchen window twenty
times a day to see who was at the well. Since the old walk
has been replaced by a stone walk and driveway, no one
could now come into the place without being visible for at
least sixty-five feet. Following the reconstruction, the stone
wall blocking the road was torn down several times at the
exact spot where the original walk reached the road.”

In all the disturbances which led to the efforts of the
rescue circle, I detected one common denominator. Some-
one was attempting to get into the house, and to call atten-
tion to something. Playing pranks, puzzling people, or even
frightening them, were not part of the ghost’s purpose;

The Rockland County Ghost

they were merely his desperate devices for getting atten-
tion, attention for something he very much wanted to say.

On a bleak and foreboding day in November 1952,
the little group comprising the rescue circle drove out into
the country for the sitting. They were accompanied by Dr.
L., a prominent Park Avenue psychiatrist and psychoana-
lyst, and of course by Mr. Walker, the owner of the
property.

The investigation was sponsored by Parapsychology
Foundation, Inc., of New York City. Participants included
Mrs. Eileen J. Garrett; Dr. L., whose work in psychiatry
and analysis is well known; Miss Lenore Davidson, assis-
tant to Mrs. Garrett, who was responsible for most of the
notes taken; Dr. Michael Pobers, then Secretary General of
the Parapsychology Foundation; and myself.

The trip to the Rockland County home of Mr.

Walker took a little over an hour. The house stands atop a
wide hill, not within easy earshot of the next inhabited
house, but not too far from his own “cabin” and two other
small houses belonging to Mr. Walker’s estate. The main
house, small and compact, represents a perfect restoration
of colonial American architecture.

A plaque in the ground at the entrance gate calls
attention to the historical fact that General Wayne’s head-
quarters at the time of the Battle of Stony Point, 1 779,
occupied the very same site. Mr. Walker’s house was pos-
sibly part of the fortification system protecting the hill, and
no doubt served as a stronghold in the war of 1779 and in
earlier wars and campaigns fought around this part of the
country. One feels the history of many generations clinging
to the place.

We took our places in the upstairs bedroom, group-
ing ourselves so as to form an imperfect circle around Mrs.
Garrett, who sat in a heavy, solid wooden chair with her
back to the wall and her face toward us.

The time was 2:45 P.M. and the room was fully lit by
ample daylight coming in through the windows.

After a moment, Mrs. Garrett placed herself in full
trance by means of autohypnosis. Quite suddenly her own
personality vanished, and the medium sank back into her
chair completely lifeless, very much like an unused garment
discarded for the time being by its owner. But not for long.
A few seconds later, another personality "got into” the
medium’s body, precisely the way one dons a shirt or coat.

It was Uvani, one of Mrs. Garrett’s two spirit guides who
act as her control personalities in all of her experiments.
Uvani, in his own lifetime, was an East Indian of consider-
able knowledge and dignity, and as such he now appeared
before us.

As “he” sat up — I shall refer to the distinct personal-
ities now using the "instrument” (the medium’s body) as
“he” or "him” — it was obvious that we had before us a
gentleman from India. Facial expression, eyes, color of
skin, movements, the folded arms, and the finger move-

ments that accompanied many of his words were all those
of a native of India. As Uvani addressed us, he spoke in
perfect English, except for a faltering word now and then
or an occasional failure of idiom, but his accent was
typical.

At this point, the tape recorder faithfully took down
every word spoken. The transcript given here is believed to
be complete, and is certainly so where we deal with Uvani,
who spoke clearly and slowly. In the case of the ghost,
much of the speech was garbled because of the ghost’s
unfortunate condition; some of the phrases were repeated
several times, and a few words were so badly uttered that
they could not be made out by any of us. In order to pre-
sent only verifiable evidence, I have eliminated all such
words and report here nothing which was not completely
understandable and clear. But at least 70% of the words
uttered by the ghost, and of course all of the words of
Uvani, are on record. The tape recording is supplemented
by Miss Davidson’s exacting transcript, and in the final
moments her notes replace it entirely.

Uvani: It is I, Uvani. I give you greeting, friends. Peace be
with you, and in your lives, and in this house!

Dr. L. : And our greetings to you, Uvani. We welcome
you.

Uvani: I am very happy to speak with you, my good
friend. (Bows to Dr. L.) You are out of your native
element.

Dr. L. : Very much so. We have not spoken in this env-
ironment at all before. . . .

Uvani: What is it what you would have of me today,
please?

Dr. L. : We are met here as friends of Mr. Walker, whose
house this is, to investigate strange occurrences which have
taken place in this house from time to time, which lead us
to feel that they partake of the nature of this field of inter-
est of ours. We would be guided by you, Uvani, as to the
method of approach which we should use this afternoon.
Our good friend and instrument (Mrs. Garrett) has the
feeling that there was a personality connected with this
house whose influence is still to be felt here.

Uvani: Yes, I would think so. I am confronted myself
with a rather restless personality. In fact, a very strange
personality, and one that might appear to be in his own life
perhaps not quite of the right mind — I think you would
call it.

I have a great sense of agitation. I would like to tell
you about this personality, and at the same time draw your
attention to the remarkable — what you might call — atmos-
pherics that he is able to bring into our environment. You,
who are my friend and have worked with me very much,
know that when I am in control, we are very calm — yes?

Yet it is as much as I can do to maintain the control, as

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
80

you see — for such is the atmosphere produced by this per-
sonality, that you will note my own difficulty to retain and
constrain the instrument. (The medium’s hand shakes in
rapid palsy. Uvani’s voice tremble.) This one, in spite of
me, by virtue of his being with us brings into the process
of our field of work a classical palsy. Do you see this?

Dr. L.: Ido.

Uvani: This was his condition, and that is why it may be
for me perhaps necessary (terrific shaking of medium at
this point) to ask you to — deal — with this — personality
yourself — while I withdraw — to create a little more qui-
etude around the instrument. Our atmosphere, as you
notice, is charged. . . . You will not be worried by anything
that may happen, please. You will speak, if you can, with
this one — and you will eventually return the instrument to
my control.

Dr. L.: I will.

Uvani: Will you please to remember that you are dealing
with a personality very young, tired, who has been very
much hurt in life, and who was, for many years prior to his
passing, unable — how you say — to think for himself. Now
will you please take charge, so that I permit the complete
control to take place. . . .

Uvani left the body of the medium at this point. For
a moment, all life seemed gone from it as it lay still in the
chair. Then, suddenly, another personality seemed to pos-
sess it. Slowly, the new personality sat up, hands violently
vibrating in palsy, face distorted in extreme pain, eyes
blinking, staring, unable to see anything at first, looking
straight through us all without any sign of recognition. All
this was accompanied by increasing inarticulate outcries,
leading later into halting, deeply emotional weeping.

For about ten seconds, the new personality main-
tained its position in the chair, but as the movements of
the hands accelerated, it suddenly leaned over and crashed
to the floor, narrowly missing a wooden chest nearby.
Stretched out on the floor before us, "he” kept uttering
inarticulate sounds for perhaps one or two minutes, while
vainly trying to raise himself from the floor.

One of Dr. L. ’s crutches, which he uses when walk-
ing about, was on the floor next to his chair. The entity
seized the crutch and tried to raise himself with its help,
but without success. Throughout the next seconds, he tried
again to use the crutch, only to fall back onto the floor.

One of his legs, the left one, continued to execute rapid
convulsive movements typical of palsy. It was quite visible
that the leg had been badly damaged. Now and again he
threw his left hand to his head, touching it as if to indicate
that his head hurt also.

Dr. L. : We are friends, and you may speak with us. Let us
help you in any way we can. We are friends.

Entity: Mhh — mhh — mhh — (inarticulate sounds of sobbing
and pain).

Dr. L. : Speak with us. Speak with us. Can we help you?
(More crying from the entity) You will be able to speak
with us. Now you are quieter. You will be able to talk to
us. (The entity crawls along the floor to Mr. Walker,
seems to have eyes only for him, and remains at Walker’s
knee throughout the interrogation. The crying becomes
softer.) Do you understand English?

Entity: Friend. . .friend. Mercy... mercy... mercy.... (The
English has a marked Polish accent, the voice is rough,
uncouth, bragging, emotional.) I know. . .1 know. . .1
know. . . . (pointing at Mr. Walker)

Dr. L. : When did you know him before?

Entity: Stones. . .stones. . . . Don’t let them take me!

Dr. L. : No, we won’t let them take you.

Entity: (More crying) Talk. . . .

Mr. Walker: You want to talk to me? Yes, I’ll talk to you.
Entity: Can’t talk. . ..

Mr. Walker: Can’t talk? It is hard for you to talk?

Entity: (Nods) Yes.

Dr. L. : You want water? Food? Water?

Entity: (Shakes head) Talk! Talk! (To Mr. Walker) Friend?
You?

Mr. Walker: Yes, friend. We’re all friends.

Entity: (Points to his head, then to his tongue.)

Stones... no?

Dr. L. : No stones. You will not be stoned.

Entity: No beatin'?

Dr. L. : No, you won’t be stoned, you won’t be beaten.
Entity: Don’t go!

Mr. Walker: No, we are staying right here.

Entity: Can’t talk. . . .

Mr. Walker: You can talk. We are all friends.

Dr. L. : It is difficult with this illness that you have, but
you can talk. Your friend there is Mr. Walker. And what
is your name?

Entity: He calls me. I have to get out. I cannot go any fur-
ther. In God’s name I cannot go any further. (Touches Mr.
Walker)

Mr. Walker: I will protect you. (At the word "protect” the
entity sits up, profoundly struck by it.) What do you fear?
Entity: Stones....

Mr. Walker: Stones thrown at you?

Dr. L. : That will not happen again.

Entity: Friends! Wild men. . .you know. ...

The Rockland County Ghost

Mr. Walker: Indians?

Entity: No.

Dr. L. : White man?

Entity: Mh... teeth gone — (shows graphically how his
teeth were kicked in)

Mr. Walker: Teeth gone.

Dr. L. : They knocked your teeth out?

Entity: See? I can’t. . . . Protect me!

Mr. Walker: Yes, yes. We will protect you. No more beat-
ings, no more stones.

Dr. L. : You live here? This is your house?

Entity: (Violent gesture, loud voice) No, oh no! I hide here.
Mr. Walker: In the woods?

Entity: Cannot leave here.

Dr. L. : Whom do you hide from?

Entity: Big, big, strong. . .big, big, strong....

Dr. L. : Is he the one that beat you?

Entity: (Shouts) All... I know. ..I know. ..I know....

Dr. L. : You know the names?

Entity: (Hands on Mr. Walker’s shoulders) Know the
plans....

Dr. L. : They tried to find the plans, to make you tell, but
you did not tell? And your head hurts?

Entity: (Just nods to this) Ah. . .ah. . . .

Dr. L. : And you’ve been kicked, and beaten and stoned.
(The entity nods violently.)

Mr. Walker: Where are the plans?

Entity: I hid them. . .far, far. . . .

Mr. Walker: Where did you hide the plans? We are
friends, you can tell us.

Entity: Give me map.

(The entity is handed note pad and pen, which he
uses in the stiff manner of a quill. The drawing, showing
the unsteady and vacillating lines of a palsy sufferer, is on
hand.)

Entity: In your measure. . .Andreas Hid. . . . (drawing)

Mr. Walker: Where the wagon house lies?

Entity: A house. . .not in the house. . .timber
house... log....

Mr. Walker: Log house?

Entity: (Nods) Plans. . .log house. . .under. . .under. . .
stones.. .fifteen. . .log. . .fifteen stones. . .door. . .plans —
for whole shifting of . . . .

Mr. Walker: Of ammunitions?

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
82

—

Entity: No. . .men and ammunitions. . .plans — I have for
French. ... I have plans for French. . .plans I have to
deliver to log house. . .right where sun strikes window. . . .

Dr. L. : Fifteen stones from the door?

Entity: Where sun strikes the window. . . . Fifteen stones. . .
under. . .in log house. . . . There I have put away . . .
plans. . . . (agitated) Not take again!

Mr. Walker: No, no, we will not let them take you again.

We will protect you from the English.

Entity: (Obviously touched) No one ever say — no one ever
say — I will protect you. . . .

Mr. Walker: Yes, we will protect you. You are protected
now for always.

Entity: Don’t send me away, no?

Dr. L. : No, we won’t send you away.

Entity: Protect. . .protect. . .protect. . . .

Dr. L. : You were not born in this country?

Entity: No.

Dr. L. : You are a foreigner?

Entity: (Hurt and angry, shouts) Yeah. . .dog! They call
me dog. Beasts!

Dr. L. : Are you German? (The entity makes a disdainful
negative gesture.) Polish?

Entity: Yes.

Dr. L. : You came here when you were young?

Entity: (His voice is loud and robust with the joy of meet-
ing a countryman.) Das. . .das. . .das! Yes. . .brother?

Friends? Pole? Polski, yeah?

Mr. Walker: Yes, yes.

Entity: (Throws arms around Walker) I hear. . .1 see. . .
like. . .like brother. . .like brother. . Jilitze. ..Jilitze. ...

Mr. Walker: What is your name?

Entity: Gospodin! Gospodin! (Polish for “master”)

Mr. Walker: What’s the name? (in Polish) Zo dje lat?

Entity: (Touching Mr. Walker’s face and hands as he
speaks) Hans? Brother. . .like Hans. . .like Hans. . .me
Andre — you Hans.

Mr. Walker: I’m Hans?

Entity : My brother ... he killed too ... I die ... I die .. .
die. . .die

Mr. Walker: Where? At Tappan? Stony Point?

Entity: Big field, battle. Noise, noise. Big field. Hans like
you.

Mr. Walker: How long ago was this battle?

Entity: Like yesterday .. .like yesterday. . .1 lie here in dark
night . . . bleed ... call Hans . . . call Hans ... Polski?

Mr. Walker: Did you die here?

Entity: Out here. ... (pointing down) Say again. . .protect,
friend.... (points at himself) Me, me. . .you. . .Andreas?

You like Hans. . .friend, brother. . .you. . .Andreas?

Dr. L. : Do you know anything about dates?

Entity: Like yesterday. English all over. Cannot. . .they are
terrible. . . . (hits his head)

Dr. L. : You were with the Americans?

Entity: No, no.

Dr. L. : Yankees?

Entity: No, no. Big word. ..Re. ..Re. ..Republic...

Republic. . . . (drops back to the floor with an outcry of
pain)

Dr. L. : You are still with friends. You are resting. You are
safe.

Entity: Protection. . .protection. . .the stars in the
flag. . .the stars in the flag. . . Republic. . .they sing. . . .

Dr. L. : How long have you been hiding in this house?
Entity: I go to talk with brother later. . . . Big man say, you
go away, he talk now. ... I go away a little, he stays. . .he
talk. . .he here part of the time. . . .

By “big man’’ the entity was referring to his guide,
Uvani. The entity rested quietly, becoming more and more
lifeless on the floor. Soon all life appeared to be gone from
the medium’s body. Then Uvani returned, took control, sat
up, got back up into the chair without trouble, and
addressed us in his learned and quiet manner as before.

Uvani: (Greeting us with bended arms, bowing) You will
permit me. You do not very often find me in such sur-
roundings. I beg your pardon. Now let me tell to you a lit-
tle of what I have been able to ascertain. You have here
obviously a poor soul who is unhappily caught in the
memory of perhaps days or weeks or years of confusion. I
permit him to take control in order to let him play out the
fantasy ... in order toplayoutthe fears .thedifficulties.... I
am able thus to relax this one. It is then that I will give
you what I see of this story.

He was obviously kept a prisoner of. . .a hired army.
There had been different kinds of soldiers from Europe
brought to this country. He tells me that he had been in
other parts of this country with French troops, but they
were friendly. He was a friend for a time with one who was
friendly not only with your own people, but with Revolu-
tionary troops. He seems, therefore, a man who serves a
man. . .a mercenary.

He became a jackboot for all types of men who have
fought, a good servant. He is now here, now there.

He does not understand for whom he works. He
refers to an Andre, with whom he is for some time in con-
tact, and he likes this Andre very much because of the
similar name. . .because he is Andre(w)ski. There is this
similarity to Andre. It is therefore he has been used, as far

as I can see, as a cover-up for this man. Here then is the
confusion.

He is caught two or three times by different people
because of his appearance — he is a “dead ringer”. . .a dou-
ble. His friend Andre disappears, and he is lost and does
what he can with this one and that one, and eventually he
finds himself in the hands of the British troops. He is
known to have letters and plans, and these he wants me to
tell you were hidden by him due east of where you now
find yourselves, in what he says was a temporary building
of sorts in which were housed different caissons. In this
there is also a rest house for guards. In this type kitchen
he. . .he will not reveal the plans and is beaten mercilessly.
His limbs are broken and he passes out, no longer in the
right mind, but with a curious break on one side of the
body, and his leg is damaged.

It would appear that he is from time to time like one
in a coma — he wakes, dreams, and loses himself again, and
I gather from the story that he is not always aware of peo-
ple. Sometimes he says it is a long dream. Could it there-
fore be that these fantasies are irregular? Does he come and
go? You get the kind of disturbance — “Am I dreaming?
What is this? A feeling that there is a tempest inside of

me ” So I think he goes into these states, suspecting

them himself. This is his own foolishness. . .lost between
two states of being.

(To Mr. Walker who is tall and blue-eyed)

He has a very strong feeling that you are like his
brother, Sahib. This may account for his desire to be near
you. He tells me, “I had a brother and left him very
young, tall, blue-eyed,” and he misses him in a battlefield
in this country.

Now I propose with your prayers and help to try to
find his brother for him. And I say to him, “I have asked
for your protection, where you will not be outcast,
degraded, nor debased, where you will come and go in
freedom. Do as your friends here ask. In the name of that
God and that faith in which you were brought up, seek sal-
vation and mercy for your restlessness. Go in peace. Go to
a kindlier dream. Go out where there is a greater life.

Come with us — you are not with your kind. In mercy let
us go hand in hand.”

Now he looks at me and asks, “If I should return,
would he like unto my brother welcome me?” I do not
think he will return, but if you sense him or his wildness
of the past, I would say unto you, Sahib, address him as
we have here. Say to him, “You who have found the God
of your childhood need not return.” Give him your love
and please with a prayer send him away.

May there be no illness, nor discord, nor unhappiness
in this house because he once felt it was his only resting
place. Let there indeed be peace in your hearts and let

The Rockland County Ghost

there be understanding between here and there. It is such a
little way, although it looks so far. Let us then in our daily
life not wait for this grim experience, but let us help in
every moment of our life.

Mr. Walker was softly repeating the closing prayer.
Uvani relinquished control, saying, "Peace be unto
you. ..until we meet again.” The medium fell back in the
chair, unconscious for a few moments. Then her own per-
sonality returned.

Mrs. Garrett rose from the chair, blinked her eyes,
and seemed none the worse for the highly dramatic and
exciting incidents which had taken place around her — none
of which she was aware of. Every detail of what had hap-
pened had to be told to Mrs. Garrett later, as the trance
state is complete and no memory whatsoever is retained.

It was 2:45 P.M. when Mrs. Garrett went into trance,
and 4 P.M. when the operation came to an end. After some
discussion of the events of the preceding hour and a quar-
ter, mainly to iron out differing impressions received by
the participants, we left Mr. Walker’s house and drove
back to New York.

On December 2, 1952, Mr. Walker informed me that
"the atmosphere about the place does seem much calmer.”
It seems reasonable to assume that the restless ghost has at
last found that “sweeter dream” of which Uvani spoke.

In cases of this nature, where historical names and
facts are part of the proceedings, it is always highly desir-
able to have them corroborated by research in the available

» 7

A Revolutionary Corollary:

Patrick Henry, Nathan Hale, et al.

Nathan Hale, as every schoolboy knows, was the
American spy hanged by the British. He was captured at
Huntington Beach and taken to Brooklyn for trial. How he
was captured is a matter of some concern to the people of
Huntington, Long Island. The town was originally settled
by colonists from Connecticut who were unhappy with the
situation in that colony. There were five principal families
who accounted for the early settlement of Huntington, and
to this day their descendants are the most prominent fami-
lies in the area. They were the Sammes, the Downings, the
Busches, the Pauldings, and the Cooks. During the Revo-
lutionary War, feelings were about equally divided among
the townspeople: some were Revolutionaries and some
remained Tories. The consensus of historians is that mem-
bers of these five prominent families, all of whom were

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

reference works. In the case of "The Ghost of Ash Manor”
(Tomorrow, Autumn 1952) this was comparatively easy, as
we were dealing with a personality of some rank and
importance in his own lifetime. In this case, however, we
were dealing with an obscure immigrant servant, whose
name is not likely to appear in any of the regimental
records available for the year and place in question. In fact,
extensive perusal of such records shows no one who might
be our man. There were many enlisted men with the name
Andreas serving in the right year and in the right regiment
for our investigation, but none of them seems to fit.

And why should it? After all, our Andrewski was a
very young man of no particular eminence who served as
ordinary jackboot to a succession of colonial soldiers, as
Uvani and he himself pointed out. The search for Andreas’
brother Hans was almost as negative. Pursuing a hunch
that the Slavic exclamation “Jilitze. . .Jilitze. . . ” which the
ghost made during the interrogation, might have been
“Ulica...Ulica. ...” I found that a Johannes Ulick (Hans
Ulick could be spelled that way) did indeed serve in 1779
in the Second Tryon County Regiment.

The "fifteen stones to the east” to which the ghost
referred as the place where he hid the plans may very well
have been the walk leading from the house to the log house
across the road. Some of these stone steps are still pre-
served. What happened to the plans, we shall never know.
They were probably destroyed by time and weather, or
were found and deposited later in obscure hands. No mat-
ter which — it is no longer of concern to anyone.

Tories, were responsible for the betrayal of Nathan Hale to
the British.

All this was brought to my attention by Mrs. Geral-
dine P. of Huntington. Mrs. P. grew up in what she con-
siders the oldest house in Huntington, although the
Huntington Historical Society claims that theirs is even
older. Be that as it may, it was there when the Revolution-
ary War started. Local legend has it that an act of violence
took place on the corner of the street, which was then a
crossroads in the middle of a rural area. The house in
which Mrs. P. grew up stands on that street. Mrs. P. sus-
pects that the capture — or, at any rate, the betrayal — of the
Revolutionary agent took place on that crossroads. When
she tried to investigate the history of her house, she found
little cooperation on the part of the local historical society.
It was a conspiracy of silence, according to her, as if some
people wanted to cover up a certain situation from the past.

The house had had a “strange depressing effect on all
its past residents,” according to Mrs. P. Her own father,
who studied astrology and white magic for many years,
related an incident that occurred in the house. He awoke in
the middle of the night in the master bedroom because he
felt unusually cold. He became aware of “something” rush-

ing about the room in wild, frantic circles. Because of his
outlook and training, he spoke up, saying, “Can I help
you?” But the rushing about became even more frantic. He
then asked what was wrong and what could be done. But
no communication was possible. When he saw that he
could not communicate with the entity, Mrs. P.’s father
finally said, “If I can’t help you, then go away.” There was
a snapping sound, and the room suddenly became quiet
and warm again, and he went back to sleep. There have
been no other recorded incidents at the house in question.
But Mrs. P. wonders if some guilty entity wants to mani-
fest, not necessarily Nathan Hale, but perhaps someone
connected with his betrayal.

At the corner of 43rd Street and Vanderbilt Avenue,
Manhattan, one of the busiest and noisiest spots in all of
New York City, there is a small commemorative plaque
explaining that Nathan Hale, the Revolutionary spy, was
executed on that spot by the British. I doubt that too many
New Yorkers are aware of this, or can accurately pinpoint
the location of the tragedy. It is even less likely that a for-
eigner would know about it. When I suggested to my good
friend Sybil Leek that she accompany me to a psychically
important spot for an experiment, she readily agreed.
Despite the noises and the heavy traffic, the spot being
across from Grand Central Station, Sybil bravely stood
with me on the street corner and tried to get some sort of
psychic impression.

“I get the impression of food and drink,” Sybil said. I
pointed out that there were restaurants all over the area,
but Sybil shook her head. "No, I was thinking more of a
place for food and drink, and I don’t mean in the present.

It is more like an inn, a transit place, and it has some con-
nection with the river. A meeting place, perhaps, some sort
of inn. Of course, it is very difficult in this noise and with
all these new buildings here.”

“If we took down these buildings, what would we

see?”

"I think we would see a field and water. I have a
strong feeling that there is a connection with water and
with the inn. There are people coming and going — I sense
a woman, but I don’t think she’s important. I am not
sure. . .unless it would mean foreign. I hear a foreign lan-
guage. Something like Verchenen* I can’t quite get it. It is
not German.”

“Is there anything you feel about this spot?”

“This spot, yes. I think I want to go back two hun-
dred years at least, it is not very clear, 1769 or 1796. That
is the period. The connection with the water puzzles me.”

“Do you feel an event of significance here at any
time?”

“Yes. It is not strong enough to come through to me
completely, but sufficiently drastic to make me feel a little
nervous.”

*Verplanck’s Point, on the Hudson River, was a Revolutionary
strongpoint at the time.

“In what way is it drastic?”

"Hurtful, violent. There are several people involved
in this violence. Something connected with water, papers
connected with water, that is part of the trouble.”

Sybil then suggested that we go to the right to see if
the impressions might be stronger at some distance. We
went around the corner and I stopped. Was the impression
any stronger?

“No, the impression is the same. Papers, violence.

For a name, I have the impression of the letters P.T. Peter.
It would be helpful to come here in the middle of the
night, I think. I wish I could understand the connection
with water, here in the middle of the city.”

“Did someone die here?”

Sybil closed her eyes and thought it over for a
moment. “Yes, but the death of this person was important
at that time and indeed necessary. But there is more to it
than just the death of the person. The disturbance involves
lots of other things, lots of other people. In fact, two dis-
tinct races were involved, because I sense a lack of under-
standing. I think that this was a political thing, and the
papers were important.”

“Can you get anything further on the nature of this
violence you feel here?"

“Just a disturbed feeling, an upheaval, a general dis-
turbance. I am sorry I can’t get much else. Perhaps if we
came here at night, when things are quieter."

I suggested we get some tea in one of the nearby
restaurants. Over tea, we discussed our little experiment
and Sybil suddenly remembered an odd experience she had
had when visiting the Hotel Biltmore before. (The plaque
in question is mounted on the wall of the hotel.) “I receive
many invitations to go to this particular area of New
York,” Sybil explained, “and when I go I always get the
feeling of repulsion to the extent where I may be on my
way down and get into a telephone booth and call the peo-
ple involved and say, ‘No, I’ll meet you somewhere else.’ I
don’t like this particular area we just left; I find it very
depressing. I feel trapped."

* * *

I am indebted to R. M. Sandwich of Richmond, Vir-
ginia, for an intriguing account of an E.S.P. experience he
has connected to Patrick Henry. Mr. Sandwich stated that
he has had only one E.S.P. experience and that it took
place in one of the early estate-homes of Patrick Henry. He
admitted that the experience altered his previously dim
view of E.S.P. The present owner of the estate has said
that Mr. Sandwich has not been the only one to experience
strange things in that house.

The estate-home where the incident took place is
called Pine Flash and is presently owned by E. E. Verdon,
a personal friend of Mr. Sandwich. It is located in Hanover

A Revolutionary Corollary:

Patrick Henry, Nathan Hale, et al.

County, about fifteen miles outside of Richmond. The
house was given to Patrick Henry by his father-in-law.
After Henry had lived in it for a number of years, it
burned to the ground and was not rebuilt until fifteen years
later. During that time Henry resided in the old cottage,
which is directly behind the house, and stayed there until
the main house had been rebuilt. This cottage is frequently
referred to in the area as the honeymoon cottage of young
Patrick Henry. The new house was rebuilt exactly as it had
been before the fire. As for the cottage, which is still in
excellent condition, it is thought to be the oldest wood
frame dwelling in Virginia. It may have been there even
before Patrick Henry lived in it.

On the Fourth of July, 1968, the Sandwiches had
been invited to try their luck at fishing in a pond on Mr.
Verdon’s land. Since they would be arriving quite early in
the morning, they were told that the oars to the rowboat,
which they were to use at the pond, would be found inside
the old cottage. They arrived at Pine Flash sometime
around 6 A.M. Mrs. Sandwich started unpacking their fish-
ing gear and food supplies, while Mr. Sandwich decided to
inspect the cottage. Although he had been to the place sev-
eral times before, he had never actually been inside the cot-
tage itself.

Here then is Mr. Sandwich’s report.

"I opened the door, walked in, and shut the door
tight behind me. Barely a second had passed after I shut
the door when a strange feeling sprang over me. It was the
kind of feeling you would experience if you were to walk
into an extremely cold, damp room. I remember how still
everything was, and then I distinctly heard footsteps over-
head in the attic. I called out, thinking perhaps there was
someone upstairs. No one answered, nothing. At that time
I was standing directly in front of an old fireplace. I admit
I was scared half to death. The footsteps were louder now
and seemed to be coming down the thin staircase toward
me. As they passed me, I felt a cold, crisp, odd feeling. I
started looking around for something, anything that could
have caused all this. It was during this time that I noticed
the closed door open very, very slowly. The door stopped
when it was half opened, almost beckoning me to take my
leave, which I did at great speed! As I went through that
open door, I felt the same cold mass of air I had experi-
enced before. Standing outside, I watched the door slam
itself, almost in my face! My wife was still unpacking the
car and claims she neither saw nor heard anything.”

* * *

Revolutionary figures have a way of hanging on to
places they liked in life. Candy Bosselmann of Indiana has
had a long history of psychic experiences. She is a budding
trance medium and not at all ashamed of her talents. In
1964 she happened to be visiting Ashland, the home of
Henry Clay, in Lexington, Kentucky. She had never been

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

to Ashland, so she decided to take a look at it. She and
other visitors were shown through the house by an older
man, a professional guide, and Candy became somewhat
restless listening to his historical ramblings. As the group
entered the library and the guide explained the beautiful
ash paneling taken from surrounding trees (for which the
home is named), she became even more restless. She knew
very well that it was the kind of feeling that forewarned her
of some sort of psychic event. As she was looking over
toward a fireplace, framed by two candelabra, she suddenly
saw a very tall, white-haired man in a long black frock coat
standing next to it. One elbow rested on the mantel, and
his head was in his hand, as if he were pondering some-
thing very important.

Miss Bosselmann was not at all emotionally involved
with the house. In fact, the guided tour bored her, and she
would have preferred to be outside in the stables, since she
has a great interest in horses. Her imagination did not con-
jure up what she saw: she knew in an instant that she was
looking at the spirit imprint of Henry Clay.

In 1969 she visited Ashland again, and this time she
went into the library deliberately. With her was a friend
who wasn’t at all psychic. Again, the same restless feeling
came over her. But when she was about to go into trance,
she decided to get out of the room in a hurry.

* * *

Rock Ford, the home of General Edward Hand, is
located four miles south of Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and
commands a fine view of the Conestoga River. The house
is not a restoration but a well-preserved eighteenth -century
mansion, with its original floors, railings, shutters, doors,
cupboards, panelings, and window glass. Even the original
wall painting can be seen. It is a four -story brick mansion
in the Georgian style, with the rooms grouped around a
center hall in the design popular during the latter part of
the eighteenth century. The rooms are furnished with
antiquities of the period, thanks to the discovery of an
inventory of General Hand’s estate which permitted the
local historical society to supply authentic articles of daily
usuage wherever the originals had disappeared from the
house.

Perhaps General Edward Hand is not as well known
as a hero of the American Revolution as others are, but to
the people of the Pennsylvania Dutch country he is an
important figure, even though he was of Irish origin rather
than German. Trained as a medical doctor at Trinity Col-
lege, Dublin, he came to America in 1767 with the Eigh-
teenth Royal Irish Regiment of Foote. However, he
resigned British service in 1774 and came to Lancaster to
practice medicine and surgery. With the fierce love of lib-
erty so many of the Irish possess, Dr. Hand joined the
Revolutionaries in July of 1 775, becoming a lieutenant
colonel in the Pennsylvania Rifle Battalion. He served in
the army until 1800, when he was discharged as a major
general. Dr. Hand was present at the Battle of Trenton, the

Battle of Long Island, the Battle of White Plains, the Bat-
tle of Princeton, the campaign against the Iroquois, and the
surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown. He also served on
the tribunal which convicted Major John Andre the British
spy, and later became the army’s adjutant general. He was
highly regarded by George Washington, who visited him
in his home toward the end of the war. When peace came,
Hand became a member of the Continental Congress and
served in the Assembly of Pennsylvania as representative of
his area. He moved into Rock Ford when it was completed
in 1793 and died there in September 1802.

Today, hostesses from a local historical society serve
as guides for the tourists who come to Rock Ford in
increasing numbers. Visitors are taken about the lower floor
and basement and are told of General Hand’s agricultural
experiments, his medical studies, and his association with
George Washington. But unless you ask specifically, you
are not likely to hear about what happened to the house
after General Hand died. To begin with, the General’s son
committed suicide in the house. Before long the family
died out, and eventually the house became a museum since
no one wanted to live in it for very long. At one time,
immigrants were contacted at the docks and offered free
housing if they would live in the mansion. None stayed.
There was something about the house that was not as it
should be, something that made people fear it and leave it
just as quickly as they could.

Mrs. Ruth S. lives in upstate New York. In 1967 a
friend showed her a brochure concerning Rock Ford, and
the house intrigued her. Since she was travelling in that
direction, she decided to pay Rock Ford a visit. With her
family, she drove up to the house and parked her car in the
rear. At that moment she had an eerie feeling that some-
thing wasn’t right. Mind you, Mrs. S. had not been to the
house before, had no knowledge about it nor any indication
that anything unusual had occurred in it. The group of vis-
itors was quite small. In addition to herself and her family,
there were two young college boys and one other couple.
Even though it was a sunny day, Mrs. S. felt icy cold.

"I felt a presence before we entered the house and
before we heard the story from the guide,” she explained.
“If I were a hostess there, I wouldn’t stay there alone for
two consecutive minutes.” Mrs. S. had been to many old
houses and restorations before but had never felt as she did
at Rock Ford.

* * *

It is not surprising that George Washington should
be the subject of a number of psychic accounts. Probably
the best known (and most frequently misinterpreted) story
concerns General Washington’s vision which came to him
during the encampment at Valley Forge, when the fortunes
of war had gone heavily in favor of the British, and the
American army, tattered and badly fed, was just about
falling to pieces. If there ever was a need for divine guid-

ance, it was at Valley Forge. Washington was in the habit
of meditating in the woods at times and saying his prayers
when he was quite alone. On one of those occasions he
returned to his quarters more worried than usual. As he
busied himself with his papers, he had the feeling of a
presence in the room. Looking up, he saw opposite him a
singularly beautiful woman. Since he had given orders not
to be disturbed, he couldn’t understand how she had got-
ten into the room. Although he questioned her several
times, the visitor would not reply. As he looked at the
apparition, for that is what it was, the General became
more and more entranced with her, unable to make any
move. For a while he thought he was dying, for he imag-
ined that the apparition of such unworldly creatures as he
was seeing at that moment must accompany the moment of
transition.

Finally, he heard a voice, saying, “Son of the Repub-
lic, look and learn.” At the same time, the visitor extended
her arm toward the east, and Washington saw what to him
appeared like white vapor at some distance. As the vapor
dissipated, he saw the various countries of the world and
the oceans that separated them. He then noticed a dark,
shadowy angel standing between Europe and America, tak-
ing water out of the ocean and sprinkling it over America
with one hand and over Europe with the other. When he
did this, a cloud rose from the countries thus sprinkled,
and the cloud then moved westward until it enveloped
America. Sharp flashes of lightning became visible at inter-
vals in the cloud. At the same time, Washington thought
he heard the anguished cries of the American people
underneath the cloud. Next, the strange visitor showed him
a vision of what America would look like in the future, and
he saw villages and towns springing up from one coast to
the other until the entire land was covered by them.

“Son of the Republic, the end of the century cometh,
look and learn,” the visitor said. Again Washington was
shown a dark cloud approaching America, and he saw the
American people fighting one another. A bright angel then
appeared wearing a crown on which was written the word
Union. This angel bore the American Flag, which he
placed between the divided nation, saying, “Remember,
you are brethren." At that instant, the inhabitants threw
away their weapons and became friends again.

Once more the mysterious voice spoke. “Son of the
Republic, look and learn.” Now the dark angel put a trum-
pet to his mouth and sounded three distinct blasts. Then
he took water from the ocean and sprinkled it on Europe,
Asia, and Africa. As he did so, Washington saw black
clouds rise from the countries he had sprinkled. Through
the black clouds, Washington could see red light and
hordes of armed men, marching by land and sailing by sea
to America, and he saw these armies devastate the entire
country, burn the villages, towns, and cities, and as he lis-

A Revolutionary Corollary:

Patrick Henry, Nathan Hale, et al.

tened to the thundering of the cannon, Washington heard
the mysterious voice saying again, “Son of the Fapublic,
look and learn.”

Once more the dark angel put the trumpet t^tis
mouth and sounded a long and fearful blast. As he did so,
a light as of a thousand suns shone down from above him
and pierced the dark cloud which had enveloped America.
At the same time the angel wearing the word Union on his
head descended from the heavens, followed by legions of
white spirits. Together with the inhabitants of America,
Washington saw them renew the battle and heard the mys-
terious voice telling him, once again, "Son of the Republic,
look and learn.”

For the last time, the dark angel dipped water from
the ocean and sprinkled it on America; the dark cloud
rolled back and left the inhabitants of America victorious.
But the vision continued. Once again Washington saw vil-
lages, towns, and cities spring up, and he heard the bright
angel exclaim, “While the stars remain and the heavens
send down dew upon the earth, so long shall the Union
last.” With that, the scene faded, and Washington beheld
once again the mysterious visitor before him. As if she had
guessed his question, the apparition then said:

“Son of the Republic, what you have seen is thus
interpreted: Three great perils will come upon the Repub-
lic. The most fearful is the third, during which the whole
world united shall not prevail against her. Let every child
of the Republic learn to live for his God, his land, and his
Union.” With that, the vision disappeared, and Washing-
ton was left pondering over his experience.

One can interpret this story in many ways, of course.
If it really occurred, and there are a number of accounts of
it in existence which lead me believe that there is a basis of
fact to this, then we are dealing with a case of prophecy on
the part of General Washington. It is a moot question
whether the third peril has already come upon us, in the
shape of World War II, or whether it is yet to befall us.

The light that is stronger than many suns may have omi-
nous meaning in this age of nuclear warfare.

Washington himself is said to have appeared to Sena-
tor Calhoun of South Carolina at the beginning of the War
between the States. At that time, the question of secession
had not been fully decided, and Calhoun, one of the most
powerful politicians in the government, was not sure
whether he could support the withdrawal of his state from
the Union. The question lay heavily on his mind when he
went to bed one hot night in Charleston, South Carolina.
During the night, he thought he awoke to see the appari-
tion of General George Washington standing by his bed-
side. The General wore his presidential attire and seemed
surrounded by a bright outline, as if some powerful source
of light shone behind him. On the senator’s desk lay the
declaration of secession, which he had not yet signed. With
Calhoun’s and South Carolina's support, the Confederacy

would be well on its way, having closed ranks. Earnestly,
the spirit of George Washington pleaded with Senator Cal-
houn not to sign the declaration. Fie warned him against
the impending perils coming to America as a divided
nation; he asked him to reconsider his decision and to work
for the preservation of the Union. But Calhoun insisted
that the South had to go its own way. When the spirit of
Washington saw that nothing could sway Senator Calhoun,
he warned him that the very act of his signature would be
a black spot on the Constitution of the United States. With
that, the vision is said to have vanished.

One can easily explain the experience as a dream,
coming as it did at a time when Senator Calhoun was par-
ticularly upset over the implications of his actions. On the
other hand, there is this to consider: Shortly after Calhoun
had signed the document taking South Carolina into the
Confederacy, a dark spot appeared on his hand, a spot that
would not vanish and for which medical authorities had no
adequate explanation.

* * *

Mrs. Margaret Smith of Orlando, Florida, has had a
long history of psychic experiences. She has personally seen
the ghostly monks of Beaulieu, England; she has seen the
actual lantern of Joe Baldwin, the famous headless ghost of
Wilmington, North Carolina; and she takes her “supernat-
ural” experiences in her stride the way other people feel
about their musical talents or hobbies. When she was only
a young girl, her grandmother took her to visit the von
Steuben house in Hackensack, New Jersey. (General F. W.
A. von Steuben was a German supporter of the American
Revolution who aided General Washington with volunteers
who had come over from Europe because of repressions,
hoping to find greater freedom in the New World.) The
house was old and dusty, the floorboards were creaking,
and there was an eerie atmosphere about it. The house had
been turned into an historical museum, and there were
hostesses to take visitors through.

While her grandmother was chatting with the guide
downstairs, the young girl walked up the stairs by herself.
In one of the upstairs parlors she saw a man sitting in a
chair in the corner. She assumed he was another guide.
When she turned around to ask him a question about the
room, he was gone. Since she hadn’t heard him leave, that
seemed rather odd to her, especially as the floorboards
would creak with every step. But being young she didn’t
pay too much attention to this peculiarity. A moment later,
however, he reappeared. As soon as she saw him, she asked
the question she had on her mind. This time he did not
disappear but answered her in a slow, painstaking voice
that seemed to come from far away. When he had satisfied
her curiosity about the room, he asked her some questions
about herself, and finally asked the one which stuck in her
mind for many years afterward — “What is General Wash-
ington doing now about the British?”

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

Margaret was taken aback at this question. She was
young, but she knew very well that Washington had been
dead for many years. Tactfully, she told him this and
added that Harry Truman was now president and that the

year was 1 951. At this information, the man looked
stunned/nd sat down again in the chair. As Margaret
watched him in fascinated horror, he faded away.

* 8

The Vindication of Aaron Burr

VERY FEW HISTORICAL figures have suffered as much
from their enemies or have been as misunderstood and per-
sistently misrepresented as the onetime Vice-President of
the United States, Aaron Burr, whose contributions to
American independence are frequently forgotten while his
later troubles are made to represent the man.

Burr was a lawyer, a politician who had served in the
Revolutionary forces and who later established himself in
New York as a candidate of the Democratic- Republican
party in the elections of 1796 and 1800. He didn’t get
elected in 1796, but in 1800 he received exactly as many
electoral votes as Thomas Jefferson. When the House of
Representatives broke the tie in Jefferson’s favor, Burr
became Vice-President.

Burr soon realized that Jefferson was his mortal
enemy. He found himself isolated from all benefits, such as
political patronage, normally accruing to one in his posi-
tion, and he was left with no political future at the end of
his term. Samuel Engle Burr, a descendant of Theodosia
Barstow Burr, Aaron’s first wife, and the definitive author-
ity on Aaron Burr himself, calls him “the American
Phoenix," and truly he was a man who frequently rose
from the ashes of a smashed career.

Far from being bitter over the apparent end of his
career, Burr resumed his career by becoming an indepen-
dent candidate for governor of New York. He was
defeated, however, by a smear campaign in which both his
opponents, the Federalists, and the regular Democratic-
Republican party took part.

"Some of the falsehoods and innuendoes contained in
this campaign literature,” writes Professor Burr in his
namesake’s biography, “have been repeated as facts down
through the years. They have been largely responsible for
much of the unwarranted abuse that has been heaped upon
him since that time.”

Aside from Jefferson, his greatest enemies were the
members of the Hamilton-Schuyler family, for in 1791
Burr had replaced Alexander Hamilton’s father-in-law,
General Philip Schuyler, as the senator from New York.
Hamilton himself had been Burr’s rival from the days of
the Revolutionary War, but the political slurs and state-
ments that had helped to defear Burr in 1804, and that had
been attributed to Hamilton, finally led to the famed duel.

In accepting Burr’s challenge, Hamilton shared the
illegality of the practice. He had dueled with others before,
such as Commodore Nicholson, a New York politician, in
1795. His own son, Philip Hamilton, had died in a duel
with New York lawyer George Eacker in 1801. Thus nei-
'ther party came to Weehawken, New Jersey that chilly July
morning in 1 804 exactly innocent of the rules of the game.

Many versions have been published as to what hap-
pened, but to this day the truth is not clear. Both men
fired, and Burr’s bullet found its mark. Whether or not the
wound was fatal is difficult to assess today. The long voy-
age back by boat and the primitive status of medicine in
1 804 may have been contributing factors to Hamilton’s
death.

That Alexander Hamilton’s spirit was not exactly at
rest I proved a few years ago when I investigated the house
in New York City where he had spent his last hours after
the duel. The house belonged to his physician, but it has
been torn down to make room for a modern apartment
house. Several tenants have seen the fleeting figure of the
late Alexander Hamilton appear in the house and hurry out
of sight, as if trying to get someplace fast. I wonder if he is
trying to set the record straight, a record that saw his
opponent Burr charged with murder by the State of New
Jersey.

Burr could not overcome the popular condemnation
of the duel; Hamilton had suddenly become a martyr, and
he, the villain. He decided to leave New York for a while
and went to eastern Florida, where he became acquainted
with the Spanish colonial system, a subject that interested
him very much in his later years. Finally he returned to
Washington and resumed his duties as the Vice-President
of the United States.

In 1805 he became interested in the possibilities of
the newly acquired Louisiana Territory, and tried to inter-
est Jefferson in developing the region around the Ouachita
River to establish there still another new state.

Jefferson turned him down, and finally Burr orga-
nized his own expedition. Everywhere he went in the West
he was cordially received. War with Spain was in the air,
and Burr felt the United States should prepare for it and,
at the right time, expand its frontiers westward.

Since the government had given him the cold shoul-
der, Burr decided to recruit a group of adventurous
colonists to join him in establishing a new state in
Louisiana Territory and await the outbreak of the war he

The Vindication of Aaron Burr

felt was sure to come soon. He purchased four hundred
thousand acres of land in the area close to the Spanish -
American frontier and planned on establishing there his
dream state, to be called Burrsylvania.

In the course of his plans, Burr had worked with one
General James Wilkinson, then civil governor of Louisiana
Territory and a man he had known since the Revolutionary
War. Unfortunately Burr did not know that Wilkinson was
actually a double agent, working for both Washington and
the Spanish government.

In order to bolster his position with the Jefferson
government, Wilkinson suggested to the President that
Burr’s activities could be considered treasonable. The
immediate step taken by Wilkinson was to alter one of
Burr’s coded letters to him in such a way that Burr’s state-
ment could be used against him. He sent the document
along with an alarming report of his own to Jefferson in
July of 1806.

Meanwhile, unaware of the conspiracy against his
expedition, Burr's colonists arrived in the area around
Natchez, when a presidential proclamation issued by Jeffer-
son accused him of treason. Despite an acquittal by the ter-
ritorial government of Mississippi, Washington sent orders
to seize him.

Burr, having no intention of becoming an insurrec-
tionist, disbanded the remnants of his colonists and
returned east. On the way he was arrested and taken to
Richmond for trial. The treason trial itself was larded with
paid false witnesses, and even Wilkinson admitted having
forged the letter that had served as the basis for the gov-
ernment’s case. The verdict was “not guilty,” but the pub-
lic, inflamed against him by the all-powerful Jefferson
political machine, kept condemning Aaron Burr.

Under the circumstances, Burr decided to go to
Europe. He spent the four years from 1808 to 1812 travel-
ing abroad, eventually returning to New York, where he
reopened his law practice with excellent results.

The disappearance at sea the following year of his
only daughter Theodosia, to whom he had been extremely
close, shattered him; his political ambitions vanished, and
he devoted the rest of his life to an increasingly successful
legal practice. In 1833 he married for the second time — his
first wife, Theodosia’s mother, also called Theodosia, hav-
ing died in 1794. The bride was the widow of a French
wine merchant named Stephen Jumel, who had left Betsy
Jumel a rich woman indeed. It was a stormy marriage, and
ultimately Mrs. Burr sued for divorce. This was granted on
the 14th of September 1836, the very day Aaron Burr died.
Betsy never considered herself anything but the widow of
the onetime Vice-President, and she continued to sign all
documents as Eliza B. Burr.

Burr had spent his last years in an apartment at Port
Richmond, Staten Island, overlooking New York Harbor.
His body was laid to rest at Princeton, the president of

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

which for many years had been Burr's late father, the Rev-
erend Aaron Burr.

I had not been familiar with any of this until after
the exciting events of June 1967, when I was able to make
contact with the person of Aaron Burr through psychic
channels.

My first encounter with the name Aaron Burr came
in December of 1961 . I was then actively investigating var-
ious haunted houses in and around New York City as part
of a study grant by the Parapsychology Foundation. My
reports later grew into a popular book called Ghost Hunter.

One day a publicist named Richard Mardus called
my attention to a nightclub on West Third Street doing
business as the Cafe Bizarre. Mr. Mardus was and is an
expert on Greenwich Village history and lore, and he
pointed out to me that the club was actually built into
remodeled stables that had once formed part of Richmond
Hill, Aaron Burr’s estate in New York City. At the time of
Burr’s occupancy this was farmland and pretty far uptown,
as New York City went.

But Mardus did not call to give me historical news
only: Psychic occurrences had indeed been observed at the
Burr stables, and he asked me to look into the matter. I
went down to have a look at the edifice. It is located on a
busy side street in the nightclub belt of New York, where
after dark the curious and the tourists gather to spend an
evening of informal fun. In the daytime, the street looks
ugly and ordinary, but after dark it seems to sparkle with
an excitement of its own.

The Cafe Bizarre stood out by its garish decor and
posters outside the entrance, but the old building housing
it, three stories high, was a typical nineteenth-century stone
building, well preserved and showing no sign of replace-
ment of the original materials.

Inside, the place had been decorated by a nightmarish
array of paraphernalia to suggest the bizarre, ranging from
store dummy arms to devil’s masks, and colorful lights
played on this melee of odd objects suspended from the
high ceiling. In the rear of the long room was a stage, to
the left of which a staircase led up to the loft; another
staircase was in back of the stage, since a hayloft had occu-
pied the rear portion of the building. Sawdust covered the
floor, and perhaps three dozen assorted tables filled the
room.

It was late afternoon and the atmosphere of the place
was cold and empty, but the feeling was nevertheless that
of the unusual — uncanny, somehow. I was met by a pretty,
dark-haired young woman, who turned out to be the
owner’s wife, Mrs. Renee Allmen. She welcomed me to the
Cafe Bizarre and explained that her husband, Rick, was not
exactly a believer in such things as the psychic, but that
she herself had indeed had unusual experiences here. On
my request, she gave me a written statement testifying
about her experiences.

In the early morning of July 27, 1961, at 2:20 A.M.,
she and her husband were locking up for the night. They

walked out to their car when Mrs. Allmen remembered
that she had forgotten a package inside. Rushing back to
the cafe, she unlocked the doors again and entered the
deserted building. She turned on the lights and walked
toward the kitchen, which is about a third of the way
toward the rear of the place. The cafe was quite empty,
and yet she had an eerie sensation of not being alone. She
hurriedly picked up her package and walked toward the
front door again. Glancing backward into the dark recesses
of the cafe, she then saw the apparition of a man, staring at
her with piercing black eyes. He wore an antique ruffled
shirt and seemed to smile at her when she called out to
him, "Who is it?”

But the figure never moved or reacted.

“What are you doing here?” Renee demanded, all the
while looking at the apparition.

There was no answer, and suddenly Renee’s courage
left her. Running back to the front door, she summoned
her husband from the car, and together they returned to
the cafe. Again unlocking the door, which Renee had shut
behind her when she fled from the specter, they discovered
the place to be quite empty. In the usual husbandly fash-
ion, Mr. Allmen tried to pass it off as a case of nerves or
tired eyes, but his wife would not buy it. She knew what
she had seen, and it haunted her for many years to come.

Actually, she was not the first one to see the gentle-
man in the white ruffled shirt with the piercing black eyes.
One of their waiters also had seen the ghost and promptly
quit. The Village was lively enough without psychic phe-
nomena, and how much does a ghost tip?

I looked over the stage and the area to the left near
the old stairs to see whether any reflecting surface might be
blamed for the ghostly apparition. There was nothing of
the sort, nothing to reflect light. Besides, the lights had
been off in the rear section, and those in the front were far
too low to be seen anywhere but in the immediate vicinity
of the door.

Under the circumstances I decided to arrange for a
visit with psychic Ethel Johnson Meyers to probe further
into this case. This expedition took place on January 8,

1962, and several observers from the press were also
present.

The first thing Mrs. Meyers said, while in trance,
was that she saw three people in the place, psychically
speaking. In particular she was impressed with an older
man with penetrating dark eyes, who was the owner. The
year, she felt, was 1804. In addition, she described a previ-
ous owner named Samuel Bottomslee, and spoke of some of
the family troubles this man had allegedly had in his life-
time. She also mentioned that the house once stood back
from the road, when the road passed farther away than it
does today. This I found to be correct.

“I’m an Englishman and I have my rights here,” the
spirit speaking through Mrs. Meyers thundered, as we sat
spellbound. Later I found out that the property had

belonged to an Englishman before it passed into Burr’s
hands.

The drama that developed as the medium spoke halt-
ingly did not concern Aaron Burr, but the earlier settlers.
Family squabbles involving Samuel's son Alan, and a girl
named Catherine, and a description of the building as a
stable, where harness was kept, poured from Ethel’s lips.
From its looks, she could not have known consciously that
this was once a stable.

The period covered extended from 1775 to 1804,
when another personality seemed to take over, identifying
himself as one John Bottomsley. There was some talk
about a deed, and I gathered that all was not as it should
have been. It seemed that the place had been sold, but that
the descendants of Samuel Bottomslee didn’t acknowledge
this too readily.

Through all this the initials A.B. were given as
prominently connected with the spot.

I checked out the facts afterward; Aaron Burr’s Rich-
mond Hill estate had included these stables since 1797.
Before that the area belonged to various British colonials.

When I wrote the account of this seance in my book
Ghost Hunter in 1963, I thought I had done with it. And I
had, except for an occasional glance at the place whenever I
passed it, wondering whether the man with the dark, pierc-
ing eyes was really Aaron Burr.

Burr’s name came to my attention again in 1964
when I investigated the strange psychic phenomena at the
Morris-Jumel Mansion in Washington Heights, where Burr
had lived during the final years of his life as the second
husband of Mme. Betsy Jumel. But the spectral manifesta-
tions at the Revolutionary house turned out to be the rest-
less shades of Mme. Jumel herself and that of her late first
husband, accusing his wife of having murdered him.

* * *

One day in January 1967 I received a note from a
young lady named Alice McDermott. It concerned some
strange experiences of hers at the Cafe Bizarre — the kind
one doesn’t expect at even so oddly decorated a place. Miss
McDermott requested an interview, and on February 4 of
the same year I talked to her in the presence of a friend.

She had been “down to the Village” for several years
as part of her social life — she was now twenty — and visited
the Bizarre for the first time in 1964. She had felt strange,
but could not quite pinpoint her apprehension.

“I had a feeling there was something there, but I let it
pass, thinking it must be my imagination. But there was
something on the balcony over the stage that seemed to
stare down at me — I mean something besides the dummy
suspended from the ceiling as part of the decor.”

At the time, when Alice was sixteen, she had not yet
heard of me or my books, but she had had some ESP expe-

The Vindication of Aaron Burr

riences involving premonitions and flashes of a psychic
nature.

* * *

Alice, an only child, works as a secretary in Manhat-
tan. Her father is a barge officer and her mother an
accountant. She is a very pretty blonde with a sharp mind
and a will of her own. Persuaded to try to become a nun,
she spent three months in a Long Island convent, only to
discover that the religious life was not for her. She then
returned to New York and took a job as a secretary in a
large business firm.

After she left the convent she continued her studies
also, especially French. She studied with a teacher in
Washington Square, and often passed the Cafe Bizarre on
her way. Whenever she did, the old feeling of something
uncanny inside came back. She did not enter the place, but
walked on hurriedly.

But on one occasion she stopped, and something
within her made her say, “Whoever you are in there, you
must be lonely!” She did not enter the place despite a
strong feeling that "someone wanted to say hello to her”
inside. But that same night, she had a vivid dream. A man
was standing on the stage, and she could see him clearly.
He was of medium height, and wore beige pants and black
riding boots. His white shirt with a kind of Peter Pan coll-
ar fascinated her because it did not look like the shirts
men wear today. It had puffy sleeves. The man also had a
goatee, that is, a short beard, and a mustache.

“He didn’t look dressed in today’s fashion, then?”

"Definitely not, unless he was a new rock ‘n’ roll
star.” But the most remarkable features of this man were
his dark, piercing eyes, she explained. He just stood there
with his hands on his hips, looking at Alice. She became
frightened when the man kept looking at her, and walked
outside.

That was the end of this dream experience, but the
night before she spoke to me, he reappeared in a dream.
This time she was speaking with him in French, and also
to a lady who was with him. The lady wore glasses, had a
pointed nose, and had a shawl wrapped around her — “Oh,
and a plain gold band on her finger.”

The lady also wore a Dutch type white cap, Alice
reported. I was fascinated, for she had described Betsy
Jumel in her old age — yet how could she connect the
ghostly owner of Jumel Mansion with her Cafe Bizarre
experience? She could not have known the connection, and
yet it fit perfectly. Both Burr and Betsy Jumel spoke
French fluently, and often made use of that language.

"Would you be able to identify her if I showed you a
picture?” I asked.

"If it were she,” Alice replied, hesitatingly.

I took out a photograph of a painting hanging at
Jumel Mansion, which shows Mme. Jumel in old age.

I did not identify her by name, merely explaining it
was a painting of a group of people I wanted her to look at.

“This is the lady,” Alice said firmly, "but she is
younger looking in the picture than when I saw her.”

What was the conversation all about? I wanted to
know.

Apparently the spirit of Mme. Jumel was pleading
with her on behalf of Burr, who was standing by and
watching the scene, to get in touch with me! I asked Alice,
who wants to be a commercial artist, to draw a picture of
what she saw. Later, I compared the portrait with known
pictures of Aaron Burr. The eyes, eyebrows, and forehead
did indeed resemble the Burr portraits. But the goatee was
not known.

After my initial meeting with Alice McDermott, she
wrote to me again. The dreams in which Burr appeared to
her were getting more and more lively, and she wanted to
go on record with the information thus received. According
to her, Aaron poured his heart out to the young girl,
incredible though this seemed on the face of it.

The gist of it was a request to go to “the white house
in the country” and find certain papers in a metal box.
“This will prove my innocence. I am not guilty of treason.
There is written proof. Written October 18, 1802 or
1803.” The message was specific enough, but the papers of
course were long since gone.

The white house in the country would be the Jumel
Mansion.

I thanked Alice and decided to hold another investi-
gation at the site of the Cafe Bizarre, since the restless
spirit of the late Vice-President of the United States had
evidently decided to be heard once more.

At the same time I was approached by Mel Bailey of
Metromedia Television to produce a documentary about
New York haunted houses, and I decided to combine these
efforts and investigate the Burr stables in the full glare of
television cameras.

On June 12, 1967 I brought Sybil Leek down to the
Bizarre, having flown her in from California two days
before. Mrs. Leek had no way of knowing what was
expected of her, or where she would be taken. Neverthe-
less, as early as June 1 , when I saw her in Hollywood, she
had remarked to me spontaneously that she “knew” the
place I would take her to on our next expedition — then
only a possibility — and she described it in detail. On June
9, after her arrival in New York, she telephoned and again
gave me her impressions.

"I sense music and laughter and drumbeat,” she
began, and what better is there to describe the atmosphere
at the Cafe Bizarre these nights? “It is a three-story place,
not a house but selling something; two doors opening, go
to the right-hand side of the room and something is raised
up from the floor, where the drumbeat is.”

Entirely correct; the two doors lead into the elongated
room, with the raised stage at the end.

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
92

“Three people. . .one has a shaped beard, aquiline
nose, he is on the raised part of the floor; very dark around
the eyes, an elegant man, lean, and there are two other
people near him, one of whom has a name starting with a
Th....”

In retrospect one must marvel at the accuracy of the
description, for surely Sybil Leek had no knowledge of
either the place, its connection with Burr, nor the descrip-
tion given by the other witnesses of the man they had seen
there.

This was a brief description of her first impressions
given to me on the telephone. The following day I received
a written account of her nocturnal impressions from Mrs.
Leek. This was still two days before she set foot onto the
premises!

In her statement, Mrs. Leek mentioned that she
could not go off to sleep late that night, and fell into a
state of semiconsciousness, with a small light burning near
her bed. Gradually she became aware of the smell of fire,
or rather the peculiar smell when a gun has just been fired.
At the same time she felt an acute pain, as if she had been
wounded in the left side of the back.

Trying to shake off the impression, Mrs. Leek started
to do some work at her typewriter, but the presence per-
sisted. It seemed to her as if a voice was trying to reach
her, a voice speaking a foreign language and calling out a
name, Theo.

I questioned Mrs. Leek about the foreign language
she heard spoken clairvoyantly.

“I had a feeling it was French,” she said.

Finally she had drifted into deeper sleep. But by Sat-
urday afternoon the feeling of urgency returned. This time
she felt as if someone wanted her to go down to the river,
not the area where I live (uptown), but “a long way the
other way,” which is precisely where the Burr stables were
situated.

* * *

Finally the big moment had arrived. It was June 12,
and the television crews had been at work all morning in
and around the Cafe Bizarre to set up cameras and sound
equipment so that the investigation could be recorded
without either hitch or interruption. We had two cameras
taking turns, to eliminate the need for reloading. The cen-
tral area beneath the "haunted stage” was to be our setting,
and the place was reasonably well lit, certainly brighter
than it normally is when the customers are there at night.

Everything had been meticulously prepared. My wife
Catherine was to drive our white Citroen down to the
Bizarre with Sybil at her side. Promptly at 3 P.M. the car
arrived, Sybil Leek jumped out and was greeted at the
outer door by me, while our director, Art Forrest, gave the
signal for the cameras to start. "Welcome to the Cafe
Bizarre,” I intoned and led my psychic friend into the
semidark inside. Only the central section was brightly lit.

I asked her to walk about the place and gather
impressions at will.

"I’m going to those drums over there,” Sybil said
firmly, and walked toward the rear stage as if she knew the
way.

“Yes — this is the part. I feel cold. Even though I
have not been here physically, I know this place."

"What do we have to do here, do you think?” I
asked.

“I think we have to relieve somebody, somebody
who’s waited a long time.”

“Where is this feeling strongest?”

"In the rear, where this extra part seems to be put

on.”

Sybil could not know this, but an addition to the
building was made years after the original had been con-
structed, and it was precisely in that part that we were now
standing.

She explained that there was more than one person
involved, but one in particular was dominant; that this was
something from the past, going back into another century.

I then asked her to take a chair, and Mrs. Renee Allmen
and my wife Catherine joined us around a small table.

This was going to be a seance, and Sybil was in deep
trance within a matter of perhaps five minutes, since she
and I were well in tune with one another, and it required
merely a signal on my part to allow her to "slip out.”

At first there was a tossing of the head, the way a
person moves when sleep is fitful.

Gradually, the face changed its expression to that of a
man, a stern face, perhaps even a suspicious face. The hiss-
ing sound emanating from her tightly closed lips gradually
changed into something almost audible, but I still could
not make it out.

Patiently, as the cameras ground away precious color
film, I asked “whoever it might be” to speak louder and to
communicate through the instrument of Mrs. Leek.

"Theo!” the voice said now. It wasn’t at all like Sybil’s
own voice.

“Theo. . .I’m lost. . .where am I?” I explained that this
was the body of another person and that we were in a house
in New York City.

"Where’s Theo?” the voice demanded with greater
urgency. "Who are you?”

I explained my role as a friend, hoping to establish
contact through the psychic services of Mrs. Leek, then in
turn asked who the communicator was. Since he had called
out for Theo, he was not Theo, as I had first thought.

“Bertram Delmar. I want Theo,” came the reply.

"Why do you want Theo?”

“Lost.”

Despite extensive research I was not able to prove
that Bertram Delmar ever existed or that this was one of
the cover names used by Aaron Burr; but it is possible that

The Vindication of Aaron Burr

The Cafe Bizarre — once Aaron Burr’s stables

he did, for Burr was given to the use of code names during
his political career and in sensitive correspondence.

What was far more important was the immediate call
for Theo, and the statement that she was "lost.” Theodosia
Burr was Burr’s only daughter and truly the apple of his
eye. When she was lost at sea on her way to join him, in
1813, he became a broken man. Nothing in the up-and-
down life of the American Phoenix was as hard a blow of
fate than the loss of his beloved Theo.

The form “Theo,” incidentally, rather than the full
name Theodosia, is attested to by the private correspon-
dence between Theodosia and her husband, Joseph Alston,
governor of South Carolina. In a rare moment of forebod-
ing, she had hinted that she might soon die. This letter
was written six months before her disappearance in a storm
at sea and was signed, “Your wife, your fond wife, Theo.”

After the seance, I asked Dr. Samuel Engle Burr
whether there was any chance that the name Theo might
apply to some other woman.

Dr. Burr pointed out that the Christian name Theo-
dosia occurred in modern times only in the Burr family. It
was derived from Theodosius Bartow, father of Aaron

Burr's first wife, who was mother of the girl lost at sea.

The mother had been Theodosia the elder, after her father,
and the Burrs had given their only daughter the same
unusual name.

After her mother’s passing in 1794, the daughter
became her father’s official hostess and truly "the woman
in the house.” More than that, she was his confidante and
shared his thoughts a great deal more than many other
daughters might have. Even after her marriage to Alston
and subsequent move to South Carolina, they kept in
touch, and her family was really all the family he had.

Thus their relationship was a truly close one, and it is not
surprising that the first thought, after his "return from the
dead,” so to speak, would be to cry out for his Theo!

I wasn’t satisfied with his identification as “Bertram
Delmar,” and insisted on his real name. But the communi-
cator brushed my request aside and instead spoke of
another matter.

“Where’s the gun?”

“What gun?”

I recalled Sybil’s remark about the smell of a gun
having just been fired. I had to know more.

"What are you doing here?”

"Hiding.”

“What are you hiding from?”

“You.”

Was he mistaking me for someone else?

“I’m a friend,” I tried to explain, but the voice inter-
rupted me harshly.

“You’re a soldier.”

In retrospect one cannot help feeling that the emo-
tionally disturbed personality was reliving the agony of
being hunted down by U.S. soldiers prior to his arrest,
confusing it, perhaps, in his mind with still another
unpleasant episode when he was being hunted, namely,
after he had shot Hamilton!

I decided to pry farther into his personal life in order
to establish identity more firmly.

“Who is Theo? What is she to you?”

“I have to find her, take her away. . .it is dangerous,
the French are looking for me.”

“Why would the French be looking for you?” I asked
in genuine astonishment. Neither I nor Mrs. Leek had any
notion of this French connection at that time.

"Soldiers watch....”

Through later research I learned that Burr had indeed
been in France for several years, from 1808 to 1812. At
first, his desire to have the Spanish American colonies freed
met with approval by the then still revolutionary Bonaparte
government. But when Napoleon’s brother Joseph
Napoleon was installed as King of Spain, and thus also
ruler of the overseas territories, the matter became a politi-
cal horse of another color; now Burr was advocating the
overthrow of a French-owned government, and that could
no longer be permitted.

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
94

Under the circumstances, Burr saw no point in stay-
ing in France, and made arrangements to go back to New
York. But he soon discovered that the French government
wouldn’t let him go so easily. “All sorts of technical diffi-
culties were put in his way,” writes Dr. Samuel Engle Burr,
“both the French and the American officials were in agree-
ment to the effect that the best place for the former Vice-
President was within the Empire of France.” Eventually, a
friendly nobleman very close to Napoleon himself managed
to get Burr out. But it is clear that Burr was under surveil-
lance all that time and probably well aware of it!

I continued my questioning of the entity speaking
through an entranced Sybil Leek, the entity who had glibly
claimed to be a certain Bertram Delmar, but who knew so
many things only Aaron Burr would have known.

What year was this, I asked.

“Eighteen ten.”

In 1810, Burr had just reached France. The date fit
in well with the narrative of soldiers watching him.

“Why are you frightened?” I asked.

“The soldiers, the soldiers. ...”

“Have you done anything wrong?”

“Who are you?”

"I’m a friend, sent to help you!”

"Traitor! You. . .you betrayed me. . . .”

"Tell me what you are doing, what are you trying to
establish here?”

“Traitor!”

Later, as I delved into Burr’s history in detail, I
thought that this exchange between an angry spirit and a
cool interrogator might refer to Burr’s anger at General
James Wilkinson, who had indeed posed as a friend and
then betrayed Burr. Not the "friend” ostensibly helping
Burr set up his western colony, but the traitor who later
caused soldiers to be sent to arrest him. It certainly fit the
situation. One must understand that in the confused men-
tal state a newly contacted spirit personality often finds
himself, events in his life take on a jumbled and fragmen-
tary quality, often flashing on the inner mental screen like
so many disconnected images from the emotional reel of
his life. It is then the job of the psychic researcher to sort
it all out.

* * *

I asked the communicator to “tell me all about him-
self” in the hope of finding some other wedge to get him to
admit he was Aaron Burr.

“I escaped. . .from the French.”

“Where are the French?”

“Here.”

This particular “scene” was apparently being re-
enacted in his mind, during the period he lived in France.

“Did you escape from any particular French person?”
I asked.

“Jacques. . ,de la Beau. ...”

The spelling is mine. It might have been different,
but it sounded like “de la Beau.”

“Who is Jacques de la Beau?”

Clenched teeth, hissing voice — "I’m. . .not. . .telling
you. Even... if you., .kill me.”

I explained I had come to free him, and what could I
do for him?

"Take Theo away. . .leave me. . .1 shall die. ...”

Again I questioned him about his identity. Now he
switched his account and insisted he was French, bom at a
place called Dasney near Bordeaux. Even while this infor-
mation was coming from the medium’s lips, I felt sure it
was a way to throw me off his real identity. This is not
unusual in some cases. When I investigated the ghost of
General Samuel Edward McGowan some years ago, it took
several weeks of trance sessions until he abandoned an
assumed name and admitted an identity that could later be
proven. Even the discarnates have their pride and emo-
tional “hangups.”

The name Jacques de la Beau puzzled me. After the
seance, I looked into the matter and discovered that a cer-
tain Jacques Prevost (pronounced pre-voh) had been first
husband of Aaron Burr’s first wife, Theodosia. Burr, in
fact, raised their two sons as his own, and there was a close
link between them and Burr in later years. But despite his
French name, Prevost was in the British service.

* * *

When Burr lived in New York, he had opened his
home to the daughter of a French admiral, from whom she
had become separated as a consequence of the French Rev-
olution. This girl, Natalie, became the close companion of
Burr’s daughter Theodosia, and the two girls considered
themselves sisters. Natalie’s father was Admiral de Lage de
Volade. This name, too, has sounds similar to the “de la
Beau” I thought I had understood. It might have been “de
la voh” or anything in between the two sounds. Could the
confused mind of the communicator have drawn from both
Prevost and de Lage de Volade? Both names were of
importance in Burr’s life.

“Tell me about your wife,” I demanded now.

“No. I don’t like her.”

I insisted, and he, equally stubborn, refused.

“Is she with you?” I finally said.

“Got rid of her,” he said, almost with joy in the
voice.

“Why?”

“No good to me. . .deceived me. . .married. ...”

There was real disdain and anger in the voice now.

Clearly, the communicator was speaking of the sec-
ond Mrs. Burr. The first wife had passed away a long time
before the major events in his life occurred. It is perfectly
true that Burr “got rid of her” (through two separations
and one divorce action), and that she "deceived him,” or

The Vindication of Aaron Burr

rather tricked him into marrying her: He thought she was
wealthier than she actually was, and their main difficulties
were about money. In those days people did not always
marry for love, and it was considered less immoral to have
married someone for money than to deceive someone into
marrying by the prospects of large holdings when they
were in fact small. Perhaps today we think differently and
even more romantically about such matters; in the 1830s, a
woman’s financial standing was as negotiable as a bank
account.

* * *

The more I probed, the more excited the communi-
cator became; the more I insisted on identification, the
more cries of “Theo! Theo!” came from the lips of Sybil
Leek.

When I had first broached the subject of Theo ’s rela-
tionship to him, he had quickly said she was his sister. I
brought this up again, and in sobbing tones he admitted
this was not true. But he was not yet ready to give me the
full story.

“Let me go,” he sobbed.

“Not until you can go in peace,” I insisted. "Tell me
about yourself. You are proud of yourself, are you not?”

"Yes,” the voice came amid heavy sobbing, “the dis-
grace. . .the disgrace. ...”

"I will tell the world what you want me to say. I’m
here as your spokesman. Use this chance to tell the world
your side of the facts!”

There was a moment of hesitation, then the voice,
gentler started up again.

"I. ..loved.. .Theo. ... I have to.. .find her. ...”

The most important thought, evidently, was the loss
of his girl. Even his political ambitions took a back seat to
his paternal love.

“Is this place we’re in part of your property?”

Forlornly, the voice said,

“I had. . .a lot. . .from the river. . .to here.”

Later I checked this statement with Mrs. Leroy
Campbell, curator of the Morris-Jumel mansion, and a
professional historian who knew the period well.

“Yes, this is true,” Mrs. Campbell confirmed, “Burr’s
property extended from the river and Varick Street east-
ward.”

“But the lot from the river to here does not belong to
a Bertram Delmar,” I said to the communicator. “Why do
you wish to fool me with names that do not exist?”

I launched this as a trial balloon. It took off.

"She calls me Bertram,” the communicator admitted
now. "I’m not ashamed of my name.”

I nodded. “I’m here to help you right old wrongs,
but you must help me do this. I can’t do it alone.”

I didn t kill. . .got rid of her ” he added, appar-

ently willing to talk.

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
96

“You mean, your wife?”

“Had to.”

"Did you kill anyone ?” I continued the line of
discussion.

“Killed. . .to protect. ..not wrong!”

“How did you kill?”

"A rifle. ...”

Was he perhaps referring to his service in the Revo-
lutionary War? He certainly did some shooting then.

But I decided to return to the “Bertram Delmar”
business once more. Constant pressure might yield results.

“Truthfully, will you tell us who you are?”

Deliberately, almost as if he were reading an official
communique, the voice replied, “lam Bertram Delmar and
I shall not say that name . . . . ”

“You must say ‘that name’ if you wish to see Theo
again. I had put it on the line. Either cooperate with me,
or I won t help you. Sometimes this is the only way you
can get a recalcitrant spirit to “come across” — when this
cooperation is essential both to his welfare and liberation
and to the kind of objective proof required in science.

There was a moment of ominous quiet. Then, almost
inaudibly, the communicator spoke.

“An awful name... Arnot.”

After the investigation I played the sound tapes back
to make sure of what I had heard so faintly. It was quite
clear. The communicator had said “Arnot."

My first reaction was, perhaps he is trying to say
Aaron Burr and pronounce Aaron with a broad ah. But on
checking this out with both Mrs. Campbell and Dr. Burr I
found that such a pronunciation was quite impossible. The
night after the seance I telephoned Dr. Burr at his Wash-
ington home and read the salient points of the transcript to
him.

When I came to the puzzling name given by the
communicator I asked whether Arnot meant anything,
inasmuch as I could not find it in the published biogra-
phies of Burr. There was a moment of silence on the other
end of the line before Dr. Burr spoke.

‘Quite so,” he began. “It is not really generally
known, but Burr did use a French cover name while
returning from France to the United States, in order to
avoid publicity. That name was Arnot."

But back to the Cafe Bizarre and our investigation.

Having not yet realized the importance of the word
Arnot, I continued to insist on proper identification.

“You must cleanse yourself of ancient guilt,” I
prodded.

“It is awful... awful....”

“Is Theo related to you?”

“She’s mine.”

“Are you related to her?”

“Lovely. . .little one. ..daughter."

Finally, the true relationship had come to light.

“If Theo is your daughter, then you are not
‘Bertram.

“You tricked me. . .go away . . .or else I’ll kill you!”

The voice sounded full of anger again.

“If you’re not ashamed of your name, then I want to
hear it from your lips.”

Again, hesitatingly, the voice said,

“Arnot.”

“Many years have gone by. Do you know what year
we’re in now?”

“Ten....”

“It is not 1810. A hundred fifty years have gone by.”

"You’re mad.”

“You’re using the body of a psychic to speak to
us....”

The communicator had no use for such outrageous
claims.

“I’m not going to listen....”

But I made him listen. I told him to touch the hair,
face, ears of the “body” he was using as a channel and to
see if it didn’t feel strange indeed.

Step by step, the figure of Sybil, very tensed and
angry a moment before, relaxed. When the hand found its
way to the chin, there was a moment of startled expression:

“No beard. . ..”

I later found that not a single one of the contempo-
rary portraits of Aaron Burr shows him with a chin beard.
Nevertheless, Alice McDermott had seen and drawn him
with a goatee, and now Sybil Leek, under the control of the
alleged Burr, also felt for the beard that was not there any
longer.

Was there ever a beard?

“Yes,” Dr. Burr confirmed, “there was, although this,
too, is almost unknown except of course to specialists like
myself. On his return from France, in 1812, Burr sported a
goatee in the French manner.”

* * *

By now I had finally gotten through to the person
speaking through Sybil Leek, that the year was 1967 and
not 1810.

His resistance to me crumbled.

“You’re a strange person,” he said, “I’m tired.”

“Why do you hide behind a fictitious name?”

“People. . .ask. . .too many . . .questions.”

“Will you help me clear your name, not Bertram, but
your real name?”

“I was betrayed.”

“Who is the President of the United States in 1810?”

I asked and regretted it immediately. Obviously this could
not be an evidential answer. But the communicator
wouldn’t mention the hated name of the rival.

“And who is Vice-President?” I asked.

“Politics. . are bad... they kill you... I would not
betray anyone. ... I was wronged. . .politics. . .are bad. ...”

How true!

“Did you ever kill anyone?” I demanded.

“Not wrong. ..to kill to. ..preserve.. .. I’m alone.”

He hesitated to continue.

“What did you preserve? Why did you have to kill
another person?”

"Another. . .critical.. .I’m not talking!”

“You must talk. It is necessary for posterity.”

“I tried. . .to be. . .the best.... I’m not a traitor.. .sol-
diers. . .beat the drum. . .then you die. . .politics!!”

As I later listened to this statement again and again, I
understood the significance of it, coming, as it did, from a
person who had not yet admitted he was Aaron Burr and
through a medium who didn’t even know where she was at
the time.

* * *

He killed to preserve his honor — the accusations made
against him in the campaign of 1804 for the governorship
of New York were such that they could not be left unchal-
lenged. Another was indeed critical of him, Alexander
Hamilton being that person, and the criticisms such that
Burr could not let them pass.

He “tried to the best” also — tried to be President of
the United States, got the required number of electoral
votes in 1800, but deferred to Jefferson, who also had the
same number.

No, he was not a traitor, despite continued inference
in some history books that he was. The treason trial of
1807 not only exonerated the former Vice-President of any
wrongdoing, but heaped scorn and condemnation on those
who had tried him. The soldiers beating the drum prior to
an execution could have become reality if Burr’s enemies
had won; the treason incident under which he was seized
by soldiers on his return from the West included the death
penalty if found guilty. That was the intent of his political
enemies, to have this ambitious man removed forever from
the political scene.

“Will you tell the world that you are not guilty?” I
asked.

“I told them. . .trial. . .1 am not a traitor, a mur-
derer. .

I felt it important for him to free himself of such
thoughts if he were to be released from his earthbound
status.

“I.. .want to die. the voice said, breathing
heavily.

“Come, I will help you find Theo," I said, as
promised.

But there was still the matter of the name. I felt it
would help “clear the atmosphere” if I could get him to
admit he was Burr.

I had already gotten a great deal of material, and the
seance would be over in a matter of moments. I decided to
gamble on the last minute or two and try to shock this

The Vindication of Aaron Burr

entity into either admitting he was Burr or reacting to the
name in some telling fashion.

I had failed in having him speak those words even
though he had given us many incidents from the life of
Aaron Burr. There was only one more way and I took it.
“Tell the truth,” I said, “are you Aaron Burr?”

It was as if I had stuck a red hot poker into his face.
The medium reeled back, almost upsetting the chair in
which she sat. With a roar like a wounded lion, the voice
came back at me,

“Go away. . .GO AWAY!! . . .or I’ll kill you!”

You will not kill me,” I replied calmly. "You will
tell me the truth.”

"I will kill you to preserve my honor!!”

“I’m here to preserve your honor. I’m your friend.”

The voice was like cutting ice.

"You said that once before.”

"You are Aaron Burr, and this is part of your place.”
“I’m Bertram!”

I did not wish to continue the shouting match.

“Very well,” I said, “for the world, then, let it be
Bertram, if you’re not ready to face it that you’re Burr.”

I m Bertram. . . ” the entity whispered now.

Then go from this place and join your Theo. Be
Bertram for her.”

Bertram. . .you won’t tell?” The voice was pleading.

Very well.” He would soon slip across the veil, I
felt, and there were a couple of points I wanted to clear up
first. I explained that he would soon be together with his
daughter, leaving here after all this time, and I told him
again how much time had elapsed since his death.

I tarried. . .1 tarried. . . ” he said, pensively.

“What sort of a place did you have?” I asked.

It was a big place. . .with a big desk. . .famous
house. ...” But he could not recall its name.

Afterward, I checked the statement with Mrs. Camp-
bell, the curator at the Morris-Jumel mansion. "That desk
in the big house,” she explained,” is right here in our Burr
room. It was originally in his law office.” But the restless
one was no longer interested in talking to me.

I m talking to Theo. . .” he said, quietly now, "in
the garden. ... I’m going for a walk with Theo. . .go
away.”

Within a moment, the personality who had spoken
through Sybil Leek for the past hour was gone. Instead,
Mrs. Leek returned to her own self, remembering
absolutely nothing that had come through her entranced
lips.

Lights are bright,” was the first thing she said, and
she quickly closed her eyes again.

But a moment later, she awoke fully and complained
only that she felt a bit tired.

I wasn’t at all surprised that she did.

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
98

* * *

Almost immediately after I had returned home, I
started my corroboration. After discussing the most impor-
tant points with Dr. Samuel Engle Burr over the telephone,
I arranged to have a full transcript of the seance sent to
him for his comments.

So many things matched the Burr personality that
there could hardly be any doubt that it was Burr we had
contacted. “I’m not a traitor and a murderer,” the ghostly
communicator had shouted. “Traitor and murderer” were
the epithets thrown at Burr in his own lifetime by his ene-
mies, according to Professor Burr, as quoted by Larry
Chamblin in the Allentown Call-Chronicle.

Although he is not a direct descendant of Aaron
Burr, the Washington educator is related to Theodosia
Barstow Burr, the Vice-President’s first wife. A much-
decorated officer in both world wars, Professor Burr is a
recognized educator and the definitive authority on his
famous namesake. In consulting him, I was getting the best
possible information.

Aaron Burr’s interest in Mexico, Professor Burr
explained, was that of a liberator from Spanish rule, but
there never was any conspiracy against the United States
government. “That charge stemmed from a minor incident
on an island in Ohio. A laborer among his colonists
pointed a rifle at a government man who had come to
investigate the expedition.”

Suddenly, the words about the rifle and the concern
the communicator had shown about it became clear to me:

It had led to more serious trouble for Burr.

Even President Wilson concurred with those who felt
Aaron Burr had been given a "raw deal” by historical tra-
dition. Many years ago he stood at Burr’s grave in Prince-
ton and remarked, “How misunderstood. . .how maligned!”

It is now 132 years since Burr’s burial, and the false-
hoods concerning Aaron Burr are still about the land,
despite the two excellent books by Dr. Samuel Engle Burr
and the discreet but valiant efforts of the Aaron Burr Asso-
ciation, which the Washington professor heads.

In piecing together the many evidential bits and
pieces of the trance session, it was clear to me that Aaron
Burr had at last said his piece. Why had he not pro-
nounced a name he had been justly proud of in his life-
time? He had not hesitated to call repeatedly for Theo,
identify her as his daughter, speak of his troubles in France
and of his political career — why this insistence to remain
the fictitious Bertram Delmar in the face of so much proof
that he was indeed Aaron Burr?

All the later years of his life, Burr had encountered
hostility, and he had learned to be careful whom he chose
as friends, whom he could trust. Gradually, this bitterness
became so strong that in his declining years he felt himself
to be a lonely, abandoned old man, his only daughter gone
forever, and no one to help him carry the heavy burden of
his life. Passing across into the nonphysical side of life in

such a state of mind, and retaining it by that strange quirk
of fate that makes some men into ghostly images of their
former selves, he would not abandon that one remaining
line of defense against his fellow men: his anonymity.

Why should he confide in me, a total stranger, whom
he had never met before, a man, moreover, who spoke to
him under highly unusual conditions, conditions he himself
neither understood nor accepted? It seemed almost natural
for Burr’s surviving personality to be cautious in admitting
his identity.

But this ardent desire to find Theo was stronger than
his caution; we therefore were able to converse more or less
freely about this part of his life. And so long as he needed
not say he was Burr, he felt it safe to speak of his career
also, especially when my questions drove him to anger, and
thus lessened his critical judgment as to what he could say
and what he should withhold from me.

Ghosts are people, too, and they are subject to the
same emotional limitations and rules that govern us all.

Mrs. Leek had no way of obtaining the private, spe-
cific knowledge and information that had come from her
entranced lips in this investigation; I myself had almost

none of it until after the seance had ended, and thus could
not have furnished her any of the material from my own
unconscious mind. And the others present during the
seance — my wife, Mrs. Allmen, and the television people
— knew even less about all this.

Neither Dr. Burr nor Mrs. Campbell were present at
the Cafe Bizarre, and their minds, if they contained any of
the Burr information, could not have been tapped by the
medium either, if such were indeed possible.

Coincidence cannot be held to account for such rare
pieces of information as Burr’s cover name Arnot, the date,
the goatee, and the very specific character of the one speak-
ing through Mrs. Leek, and his concern for the clearing of
his name from the charges of treason and murder.

That we had indeed contacted the restless and unfree
spirit of Aaron Burr at what used to be his stables, now the
only physical building still extant that was truly his own, I
do not doubt in the least.

The defense rests, and hopefully, so does a happier
Aaron Burr, now forever reunited with his beloved daugh-
ter Theodosia.

* 9

Assassination of a President:
Lincoln, Booth, and the
Traitors Within

FIVE YEARS AFTER the assassination of President John F.
Kennedy we are still not sure of his murderer or murder-
ers, even though the deed was done in the cold glare of a
public parade, under the watchful eyes of numerous police
and security guards, not to mention admirers in the streets.

While we are still arguing the merits of various theo-
ries concerning President Kennedy’s assassination, we
sometimes forget that an earlier crime of a similar nature is
equally unresolved. In fact, there are so many startling par-
allels between the two events that one cannot help but
marvel.

One of the people who marveled at them in a particu-
larly impressive way recently is a New York psychiatrist
named Stanley Krippner, attached to Maimonides Medical
Center, Brooklyn, who has set down his findings in the
learned Journal of Parapsychology. Among the facts
unearthed by Dr. Krippner is the remarkable "death circle”
of presidential deaths: Harrison, elected in 1840, died in
1841; Lincoln, elected twenty years later, in 1860, died in
1865; Garfield, elected in 1880, was assassinated in 1881;
McKinley, elected in 1900, died by a murderer’s hand in
1901 ; Harding, elected just twenty years after him, died in
office in 1923; Roosevelt, re-elected in 1940, did likewise in
1945; and finally, Kennedy, elected to office in 1960, was

murdered in 1963. Since 1840, every President voted into
office in a year ending with a zero has died or been injured
in office.

Dr. Krippner speculates that this cycle is so far out of
the realm of coincidence that some other reason must be
found. Applying the principle of synchronicity or meaning-
ful coincidence established first by the late Professor Carl
G. Jung, Dr. Krippner wonders if perhaps this principle
might not hold an answer to these astounding facts. But
the most obvious and simplest explanation of all should not
be expected from a medical doctor: fate. Is there an over-
riding destiny at work that makes these tragedies occur at
certain times, whether or not those involved in them try to
avoid them? And if so, who directs this destiny — who, in
short, is in charge of the store?

Dr. Krippner also calls attention to some amazing
parallels between the two most noted deaths among U.S.
Presidents, Kennedy’s and Lincoln’s, Both names have
seven letters each, the wives of both lost a son while their
husbands were in office, and both Presidents were shot in
the head from behind on a Friday and in the presence of
their wives. Moreover, Lincoln’s killer was John Wilkes
Booth, the letters of whose name, all told, add up to fif-
teen; Lee Harvey Oswald’s name, likewise, had fifteen let-
ters. Booth’s birth year was 1829; Oswald’s, 1939. Both
murderers were shot down deliberately in full view of their
captors, and both died two hours after being shot. Lincoln

Assassination of a President:
Lincoln, Booth, and the Traitors Within

was elected to Congress in 1847 and Kennedy in 1947;
Lincoln became President in 1860 and Kennedy in 1960.
Both were involved in the question of civil rights for
African-Americans. Finally, Lincoln’s secretary, named
Kennedy, advised him not to go to the theater on the fate-
ful day he was shot, and Kennedy’s secretary, named Lin-
coln, urged him not to go to Dallas. Lincoln had a
premonitory dream seeing himself killed and Kennedy’s
assassination was predicted by Jeane Dixon as early as
1952, by A1 Morrison in 1957, and several other seers in
1957 and 1960, not to forget President Kennedy’s own
expressed feelings of imminent doom.

But far be it from me to suggest that the two Presi-
dents might be personally linked, perhaps through reincar-
nation, if such could be proved. Their similar fates must be
the result of a higher order of which we know as yet very
little except that it exists and operates as clearly and delib-
erately as any other law of nature.

But there is ample reason to reject any notion of Lin-
coln s rebirth in another body, if anyone were to make such
a claim. Mr. Lincoln's ghost has been observed in the
White House by competent witnesses.

According to Arthur Krock of the New York Times,
the earliest specter at the White House was not Lincoln
but Dolley Madison. During President Wilson’s adminis-
tration, she appeared to a group of workers who were about
to move her precious rose garden. Evidently they changed
their minds about the removal, for the garden was not
touched.

It is natural to assume that in so emotion-laden a
building as the White House there might be remnants of
people whose lives were very closely tied to the structure. I
have defined ghosts as the surviving emotional memories of
people who are not aware of the transition called death and
continue to function in a thought world as they did at the
time of their passing, or before it. In a way, then, they are
psychotics unable or unwilling to accept the realities of the
nonphysical world into which they properly belong, but
which is denied them by their unnatural state of “hanging
on” in the denser, physical world of flesh and blood. I am
sure we don't know all the unhappy or disturbed individu-
als who are bound up with the White House, and some of
them may not necessarily be from the distant past, either.
But Abigail Adams was seen and identified during the
administration of President Taft. Her shade was seen to
pass through the doors of the East Room, which was later
to play a prominent role in the White House’s most
famous ghost story.

That Abraham Lincoln would have excellent cause to
hang around his former center of activity, even though he
died across town, is obvious: he had so much unfinished
business of great importance.

Furthermore, Lincoln himself, during his lifetime,
had on the record shown an unusual interest in the psychic.

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
100

The Lincoln family later vehemently denied that
seances took place in the White House during his adminis-
tration. Robert Lincoln may have burned some important
papers of his father’s bearing on these sittings, along with
those concerning the political plot to assassinate his father.
According to the record, he most certainly destroyed many
documents before being halted in this foolish enterprise by
a Mr. Young. This happened shortly before Robert Lin-
coln s death and is attested to by Lincoln authority
Emanuel Hertz in The Hidden Lincoln.

The spiritualists even go so far as to claim the Presi-
dent as one of their own. This may be extending the facts,
but Abraham Lincoln was certainly psychic, and even dur-
ing his term in the White House his interest in the occult
was well known. The Cleveland Plain Dealer, about to
write of Lincoln’s interest in this subject, asked the Presi-
dent s permission to do so, or, if he preferred, that he deny
the statements made in the article linking him to these
activities. Far from denying it, Lincoln replied, “The only
falsehood in the statement is that half of it has not been
told. The article does not begin to tell the things I have
witnessed.”

The seances held in the White House may well have
started when Lincoln s little boy Willie followed another
son, Eddie, into premature death, and Mrs. Lincoln’s mind
gave way to a state of temporary insanity. Perhaps to
soothe her feelings, Lincoln decided to hold seances in the
White House. It is not known whether the results were
positive or not, but Willie s ghost has also been seen in the
White House. During Grant’s administration, according to
Arthur Krock, a boy whom they recognized as the appari-
tion of little Willie “materialized” before the eyes of some
of his household.

The medium Lincoln most frequently used was one
Nettie Colburn Maynard, and allegedly the spirit of Daniel
Webster communicated with him through her. On that
occasion, it is said, he was urged to proclaim the emancipa-
tion of the slaves. That proclamation, as everybody knows,
became Lincoln s greatest political achievement. What is
less known is the fact that it also laid the foundation for
later dissension among his Cabinet members and that, as
we shall see, it may indirectly have caused his premature
death. Before going into this, however, let us make clear
that on the whole Lincoln apparently did not need any
mediums, for he himself had the gift of clairvoyance, and
this talent stayed with him all his life. One of the more
remarkable premonitory experiences is reported by Philip
van Doren Stern in The Man Who Killed Lincoln, and also
in most other sources dealing with Lincoln.

It happened in Springfield in 1860, just after Lincoln
had been elected. As he was looking at himself in a mirror,
he suddenly saw a double image of himself. One, real and
lifelike, and an etheric double, pale and shadowy. He was
convinced that it meant he would get through his first term
safely, but would die before the end of the second. Today,
psychic researchers would explain Lincoln’s mirror experi-

ence in less fanciful terms. What the President saw was a
brief “out-of-body experience,” or astral projection, which
is not an uncommon psychic experience. It merely means
that the bonds between conscious mind and the uncon-
scious are temporarily loosened and that the inner or true
self has quickly slipped out. Usually, these experiences take
place in the dream state, but there are cases on record
where the phenomenon occurs while awake.

The President's interpretation of the experience is of
course another matter; here we have a second phenomenon
come into play, that of divination; in his peculiar interpre-
tation of his experience, he showed a degree of precogni-
tion, and future events, unfortunately, proved him to be
correct.

This was not, by far, the only recorded dream experi-
enced in Lincoln’s life. He put serious stock in dreams and
often liked to interpret them. William Herndon, Lincoln’s
onetime law partner and biographer, said of him that he
always contended he was doomed to a sad fate, and quotes
the President as saying many times, "I am sure I shall
meet with some terrible end.”

It is interesting to note also that Lincoln’s fatalism
made him often refer to Brutus and Caesar, explaining the
events of Caesar’s assassination as caused by laws over
which neither had any control; years later, Lincoln’s mur-
derer, John Wilkes Booth, also thought of himself as the
new Brutus slaying the American Caesar because destiny
had singled him out for the deed!

Certainly the most widely quoted psychic experience
of Abraham Lincoln was a strange dream he had a few
days before his death. When his strangely thoughtful mien
gave Mrs. Lincoln cause to worry, he finally admitted that
he had been disturbed by an unusually detailed dream.
Urged, over dinner, to confide his dream, he did so in the
presence of Ward Hill Lamon, close friend and social sec-
retary as well as a kind of bodyguard. Lamon wrote it
down immediately afterward, and it is contained in his
biography of Lincoln:

“About ten days ago,” the President began, “I retired
very late. I had been up waiting for important dis-
patches from the front. I could not have been long in
bed when I fell into a slumber, for I was weary. I soon
began to dream. There seemed to be a death-like still-
ness about me. Then I heard subdued sobs, as if a num-
ber of people were weeping. I thought I left my bed and
wandered downstairs. There the silence was broken by
the same pitiful sobbing, but the mourners were invisi-
ble. I went from room to room; no living person was in
sight, but the same mournful sounds of distress met me
as I passed along. It was light in all the rooms; every
object was familiar to me; but where were all the people
who were grieving as if their hearts would break? I was
puzzled and alarmed. What could be the meaning of all
this? Determined to find the cause of a state of things so
mysterious and so shocking, I kept on until I arrived at
the East Room, which I entered.

“There I met with a sickening surprise. Before me
was a catafalque, on which rested a corpse wrapped in
funeral vestments. Around it were stationed soldiers
who were acting as guards; and there was a throng of
people, some gazing mournfully upon the corpse, whose
face was covered, others weeping pitifully.

‘“Who is dead in the White House?’ I demanded of
one of the soldiers. ‘The President,’ was his answer; ‘he
was killed by an assassin!’ Then there came a loud burst
of grief from the crowd, which awoke me from my
dream. I slept no more that night. ...”

Lincoln always knew he was a marked man, not only
because of his own psychic hunches, but objectively, for he
kept a sizable envelope in his desk containing all the
threatening letters he had received. That envelope was sim-
ply marked “Assassination,” and the matter did not
frighten him. A man in his position is always in danger, he
would argue, although the Civil War and the larger ques-
tion of what to do with the South after victory had split the
country into two factions, made the President’s position
even more vulnerable. Lincoln therefore did not take his
elaborate dream warning seriously, or at any rate, he pre-
tended not to. When his friends remonstrated with him,
asking him to take extra precautions, he shrugged off their
warnings with the lighthearted remark, “Why, it wasn’t me
on that catafalque. It was some other fellow!”

But the face of the corpse had been covered in his
dream and he really was whistling in the dark.

Had fate wanted to prevent the tragedy and give him
warning to avoid it?

Had an even higher order of things decided that he
was to ignore that warning?

Lincoln had often had a certain dream in which he
saw himself on a strange ship, moving with great speed
toward an indefinite shore. The dream had always preceded
some unusual event. In effect, he had dreamed it precisely
in the same way preceding the events at Fort Sumter, the
Battles of Bull Run, Antietam, Gettysburg, Stone River,
Vicksburg, and Wilmington. Now he had just dreamed it
again on the eve of his death. This was April 13, 1865, and
Lincoln spoke of his recurrent dream in unusually opti-
mistic tones. To him it was an indication of impending
good news. That news, he felt, would be word from Gen-
eral Sherman that hostilities had ceased. There was a Cabi-
net meeting scheduled for April 14 and Lincoln hoped the
news would come in time for it. It never occurred to him
that the important news hinted at by this dream was his
own demise that very evening, and that the strange vessel
carrying him to a distant shore was Charon’s boat ferrying
him across the Styx into the nonphysical world.

But had he really crossed over?

Rumors of a ghostly President in the White House
kept circulating. They were promptly denied by the gov-

Assassination of a President:

Lincoln, Booth, and the Traitors Within

101

ernment, as would be expected. President Theodore Roo-
sevelt, according to Bess Furman in White House Profile,
often fancied that he felt Lincoln’s spirit, and during the
administration of Franklin D. Roosevelt, in the 1930s, a
female secretary saw the figure of Abraham Lincoln in his
onetime bedroom. The ghost was seated on the bed,
pulling on his boots, as if he were in a hurry to go some-
where. This happened in mid-afternoon. Eleanor Roosevelt
had often felt Lincoln’s presence and freely admitted it.

Now it had been the habit of the administration to
put important visitors into what was formerly Lincoln’s
bedroom. This was not done out of mischief, but merely
because the Lincoln room was among the most impressive
rooms of the White House. We have no record of all those
who slept there and had eerie experiences, for people, espe-
cially politically highly placed people, don’t talk about such
things as ghosts.

Yet, the late Queen Wilhelmina did mention the con-
stant knockings at her door followed by footsteps — only to
find the corridor outside deserted. And Margaret Truman,
who also slept in that area of the White House, often heard
knocking at her bedroom door at 3 A.M. Whenever she
checked, there was nobody there. Her father, President
Truman, a skeptic, decided that the noises had to be due
to “natural” causes, such as the dangerous settling of the
floors. He ordered the White House completely rebuilt,
and perhaps this was a good thing: It would surely have
collapsed soon after, according to the architect, General
Edgerton. Thus, if nothing else, the ghostly knockings had
led to a survey of the structure and subsequent rebuilding.
Or was that the reason for the knocks? Had Lincoln tried
to warn the later occupants that the house was about to fall
down around their ears?

Not only Lincoln's bedroom, but other old areas of
the White House are evidently haunted. There is, first of
all, the famous East Room, where the lying -in -state took
place. By a strange quirk of fate, President Kennedy also
was placed there after his assassination. Lynda Bird John-
son’s room happened to be the room in which Willie Lin-
coln died, and later on, Truman’s mother. It was also the
room used by the doctors to perform the autopsy on Abra-
ham Lincoln. It is therefore not too surprising that Presi-
dent Johnson’s daughter did not sleep too well in the room.
She heard footsteps at night, and the phone would ring and
no one would be on the other end. An exasperated White
House telephone operator would come on again and again,
explaining she did not ring her!

But if Abraham Lincoln’s ghost roams the White
House because of unfinished business, it is apparently a
ghost free to do other things as well, something the average
specter can’t do, since it is tied only to the place of its
untimely demise.

Mrs. Lincoln lived on for many more years, but ulti-
mately turned senile and died not in her right mind at the

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
102

home of her sister. Long before she became unbalanced,
however, she journeyed to Boston in a continuing search
for some proof of her late husband’s survival of bodily
death. This was in the 1880s, and word had reached her
that a certain photographer named William Mumler had
been able to obtain the likenesses of dead people on his
photographic plates under strict test conditions. She
decided to try this man, fully aware that fraud might be
attempted if she were recognized. Heavily veiled in mourn-
ing clothes, she sat down along with other visitors in
Mumler ’s experimental study. She gave the name of Mrs.
Tyndall; all Mumler could see was a widow in heavy veils.
Mumler then proceeded to take pictures of all those present
in the room. When they were developed, there was one of
“Mrs. Tyndall.” In back of her appears a semi-solid figure
of Abraham Lincoln, with his hands resting upon the
shoulders of his widow, and an expression of great compas-
sion on his face. Next to Lincoln was the figure of their
son Willie, who had died so young in the White House.
Mumler showed his prints to the assembled group, and
before Mrs. Lincoln could claim her print, another woman
in the group exclaimed. “Why, that looks like President
Lincoln!” Then Mrs. Lincoln identified herself for the first
time.

There is, by the way, no photograph in existence
showing Lincoln with his son in the manner in which they
appeared on the psychic photograph.

Another photographic likeness of Lincoln was
obtained in 1937 in an experiment commemorating the
President’s one-hundredth birthday. This took place at
Cassadaga, Florida, with Horace Hambling as the psychic
intermediary, whose mere presence would make such a
phenomenon possible.

Ralph Pressing, editor of the Psychic Observer, was to
supply and guard the roll of film to be used, and the expo-
sures were made in dim light inside a seance room. The
roll of film was then handed to a local photographer for
developing, without telling him anything. Imagine the
man’s surprise when he found a clearly defined portrait of
Abraham Lincoln, along with four other, smaller faces,
superimposed on the otherwise black negative.

I myself was present at an experiment in San Fran-
cisco, when a reputable physician by the name of Andrew
von Salza demonstrated his amazing gift of psychic photog-
raphy, using a Polaroid camera. This was in the fall of
1966, and several other people witnessed the proceedings,
which I reported in my book Psychic Photography — Thresh-
old of a New Science?

After I had examined the camera, lens, film, and
premises carefully, Dr. von Salza took a number of pictures
with the Polaroid camera. On many of them there appeared
various “extras,” or faces of people superimposed in a
manner excluding fraud or double exposure completely.

The most interesting of these psychic impressions was a
picture showing the face of President Lincoln, with Presi-
dent Kennedy next to him!

Had the two men, who had suffered in so many simi-
lar ways, found a bond between them in the nonphysical
world? The amazing picture followed one on which Presi-
dent Kennedy’s face appeared alone, accompanied by the
word “War” written in white ectoplasm. Was this their
way to warn us to "mend our ways”?

Whatever the meaning, I am sure of one thing: The
phenomenon itself, the experiment, was genuine and in no
way the result of deceit, accident, self-delusion, or halluci-
nation. I have published both pictures for all to see.

There are dozens of good books dealing with the
tragedy of Abraham Lincoln’s reign and untimely death.
And yet I had always felt that the story had not been told
fully. This conviction was not only due to the reported
appearances of Lincoln’s ghost, indicating restlessness and
unfinished business, but also to my objective historical
training that somehow led me to reject the solutions given
of the plot in very much the same way many serious peo-
ple today refuse to accept the findings of the Warren Com-
mission as fined in the case of President Kennedy’s death.
But where to begin?

Surely, if Lincoln had been seen at the White House
in recent years, that would be the place to start. True, he
was shot at Ford’s Theatre and actually died in the Parker
House across the street. But the White House was his
home. Ghosts often occur where the “emotional center” of
the person was, while in the body, even though actual
death might have occurred elsewhere. A case in point is
Alexander Hamilton, whose shade has been observed in
what was once his personal physician’s house; it was there
that he spent his final day on earth, and his unsuccessful
struggle to cling to life made it his “emotional center”
father than the spot in New Jersey where he received the
fatal wound.

Nell Gwyn’s spirit, as we shall see in a later chapter
appeared in the romantic apartment of her younger years
rather than in the staid home where she actually died.

Even though there might be imprints of the great
tragedy at both Ford’s Theatre and the Parker House, Lin-
coln himself would not, in my estimation, "hang around”
there!

My request for a quiet investigation in the White
House went back to 1963 when Pierre Salinger was still in
charge and John F. Kennedy was President. I never got an
answer, and in March 1965 I tried again. This time, Bess
Abell, social secretary to Mrs. Johnson, turned me down
“for security reasons.” Patiently, I wrote back explaining I
merely wanted to spend a half hour or so with a psychic,
probably Mrs. Leek, in two rarely used areas: Lincoln's
bedroom and the East Room. Bess Abell had referred to
the White House policy of not allowing visitors into the
President’s private living quarters.” I pointed out that the
President, to my knowledge, did not spend his nights in
Lincoln’s bedroom, nor was the East Room anything but
part of the ceremonial or official government rooms and
hardly “private living quarters,” especially as tourists are

taken through it every hour or so. As for security, why, I
would gladly submit anything I wrote about my studies for
their approval.

Back came another pensive missive from Bess Abell.
The President and Mrs. Johnson’s “restrictive schedules”
would not permit my visit.

I offered, in return, to come at any time, day or
night, when the Johnsons were out of town.

The answer was still no, and I began to wonder if it
was merely a question of not wanting anything to do with
ESP?

But a good researcher never gives up hope. I subse-
quently asked Senator Jacob Javits to help me get into the
White House, but even he couldn’t get me in. Through a
local friend I met James Kerchum, the curator of the State
rooms. Would he give me a privately conducted tour
exactly like the regular tourist tour, except minus tourists
to distract us?

The answer remained negative.

On March 6, 1967, Bess Abell again informed me
that the only individuals eligible for admission to the two
rooms I wanted to see were people invited for State visits
and close personal friends. On either count, that left us
out.

I asked Elizabeth Carpenter, whom I knew to be
favorably inclined toward ESP, to intervene. As press secre-
tary to Mrs. Johnson, I thought she might be able to give
me a less contrived excuse, at the very least. “An impossi-
ble precedent,” she explained, if I were to be allowed in. I
refused to take the tourist tour, of course, as it would be a
waste of my time, and dropped the matter for the time
being.

But I never lost interest in the case. To me, finding
the missing link between what is officially known about
Lincoln’s murderer and the true extent of the plot would
be an important contribution to American history.

The events themselves immediately preceding and
following that dark day in American history are known to
most readers, but there are, perhaps, some details which
only the specialist would be familiar with and which will
be found to have significance later in my investigation. I
think it therefore useful to mention these events here,
although they were not known to me at the time I under-
took my psychic investigation. I try to keep my uncon-
scious mind free of all knowledge so that no one may
accuse my psychics of “reading my mind,” or suggest simi-
lar explanations for what transpires. Only at the end of this
amazing case did I go through the contemporary record of
the assassination.

* * *

The War between the States had been going on for
four years, and the South was finally losing. This was obvi-

Assassination of a President:

Lincoln, Booth, and the Traitors within

103

ous even to diehard Confederates, and everybody wanted
only one thing to get it over with as quickly as possible
and resume a normal life once again.

While the South was, by and large, displaying apathy,
there were still some fanatics who thought they could
change the course of events by some miracle. In the North,
it was a question of freeing the slaves and restoring the
Union. In the South, it was not only a question of main-
taining the economic system they had come to consider the
only feasible one, but also one of maintaining the feudal,
largely rural system their ancestors had known in Europe
and which was being endangered by the industrialized
North with its intellectuals, labor forces, and new values.
To save the South from such a fate seemed a noble cause
to a handful of fanatics, among them John Wilkes Booth,
the man who was to play so fateful a role. Ironically, he
was not even a true Southerner, but a man born on the
fringe of the South, in Maryland, and his family, without
exception, considered itself to be of the North.

John Wilkes Booth was, of course, the lesser known
of the Booth brothers, scions of a family celebrated in the
theater of their age, and when Edwin Booth, “the Prince of
Players," learned of the terrible crime his younger brother
had committed, he was genuinely shocked, and immedi-
ately made clear his position as a longtime supporter of
Abraham Lincoln.

But John Wilkes Booth did not care whether his peo-
ple were with him or not. Still in his early twenties, he was
not only politically immature but also romantically
inspired. He could not understand the economic changes
that were sure to take place and which no bullet could
stop.

And so, while the War between the States was drawing
to a close, Booth decided to become the savior of his
adopted Dixie, and surrounded himself with a small and
motley band of helpers who had their secret meetings at
Mrs. Mary Surratt’s boarding house in Washington.

At first, they were discussing a plot to abduct Presi-
dent Lincoln and to deliver him to his foes at the Confed-
erate capital in Richmond, but the plot never came into
being. Richmond fell to the Yankees, and time ran out for
the cause of the Confederacy. As the days crept by and
Booth’s fervor to “do something drastic” for his cause
increased, the young actor started thinking in terms of
killing the man whom he blamed for his country’s defeat.
To Booth, Lincoln was the center of all he hated, and he
believed that once the man was removed all would be well.

Such reasoning, of course, is the reasoning of a
demented mind. Had Booth really been an astute politician,
he would have realized that Lincoln was a moderate com-
pared to some members of his Cabinet, that the President
was indeed, as some Southern leaders put it when news of
the murder reached them, “the best friend the South had
ever had.”

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
104

Had he appraised the situation in Washington cor-
rectly, he would have realized that any man taking the
place of Abraham Lincoln was bound to be far worse for
Southern aspirations than Lincoln, who had deeply regret-
ted the war and its hardships and who was eager to receive
the seceded states back into the Union fold with as little
punishment as possible.

Not so the war party, principally Stanton, the Secre-
tary of War, and Seward, the Secretary of State. Theirs was
a harsher outlook, and history later proved them to be the
winners — but also the cause of long years of continuing
conflict between North and South, conflict and resentment
that could have been avoided had Lincoln’s conciliatory
policies been allowed to prevail.

The principal fellow conspirators against Lincoln
were an ex-Confederate soldier named Lewis Paine; David
Herold, a druggist’s clerk who could not hold a job;

George Atzerodt, a German born carriagemaker; Samuel
Arnold, a clerk; Michael O’Laughlin, another clerk; Mrs.
Mary Surratt, the Washington boarding house keeper at
whose house they met; and finally, and importantly, John
Harrison Surratt, her son, by profession a Confederate spy
and courier. At the time of the final conspiracy Booth was
only twenty-six, Surratt twenty-one, and Herold twenty-
three, which perhaps accounts for the utter folly of their
actions.

The only one, besides Booth, who had any qualities
of leadership was young Surratt. His main job at the time
was traveling between Washington and Montreal as a
secret courier for the Washington agents of the Confeder-
acy and the Montreal, Canada headquarters of the rebels.
Originally a clerk with the Adams Express Company,
young Surratt had excellent connections in communications
and was well known in Washington government circles,
although his undercover activities were not.

When Booth had convinced Surratt that the only way
to help the Confederacy was to murder the President, they
joined forces. Surratt had reservations about this course,
and Mrs. Surratt certainly wanted no part of violence or
murder. But they were both swept up in the course of
events that followed.

Unfortunately, they had not paid enough attention to
the presence in the Surratt boarding house on H Street of a
young War Department clerk named Louis Weichmann.
Originally intending to become a priest, young Weichmann
was a witness to much of the coming and going of the con-
spirators, and despite his friendship for John Surratt, which
had originally brought him to the Surratt boarding house,
he eventually turned against the Surratts. It was his testi-
mony at Mrs. Surratt’s trial that ultimately led to her
hanging.

Originally, Mrs. Surratt had owned a tavern in a
small town thirteen miles south of Washington then called
Surrattsville and later, for obvious reasons, renamed Clin-
ton, Maryland. When business at the tavern fell off, she
leased it to an innkeeper named John Lloyd, and moved to

Washington, where she opened a boarding house on H
Street, between Sixth and Seventh Streets, which house still
stands.

Certainly she was present when the plans for Lin-
coln’s abduction were made, but she never was part of the
conspiracy to kill him. That was chiefly Booth’s brain
child, and all of his confederates were reluctant, in varying
degrees, to go along with him; nevertheless, such was his
ability to impress men that they ultimately gave in to his
urgings. Then, too, they had already gotten into this con-
spiracy so deeply that if one were caught they’d all hang.

So it seemed just as well that they did it together and
increased their chances of getting away alive.

Booth himself was to shoot the President. And when
he discovered that the Lincolns would be in the State box
at Ford’s Theatre, Washington, on the evening of April 14,
1865, it was decided to do it there. Surratt was to try to
"fix the wires” so that the telegraph would not work during
the time following the assassination. He had the right con-
nections, and he knew he could do it. In addition, he was
to follow General Grant on a train that was to take the
general and his wife to New Jersey. Lewis Paine was to kill
Secretary Seward at the same time.

Booth had carefully surveyed the theater beforehand,
making excellent use of the fact that as an actor he was
known and respected there. This also made it quite easy to
get inside the strategic moment. The play on stage was
“Our American Cousin” starring Laura Keene. Booth’s
plans were furthermore helped by a stroke of luck — or fate,
if you prefer, namely, one of the men who was supposed to
guard the President’s box was momentarily absent from his
post.

The hour was shortly after 10 P.M. when Booth
quickly entered the box, killed Lincoln with a small Der-
ringer pistol, struggled with a second guard and then,
according to plan, jumped over the box rail onto the stage
below.

Lincoln lived through the night but never regained
consciousness. He expired in the Parker House across from
Ford’s theatre, where he had been brought. Booth caught
his heel on an American flag that adorned the stage box,
and fell, breaking his leg in the process. Despite intense
pain, he managed to escape in the confusion and jump on
the horse he had prepared outside.

When he got to the Navy Yard bridge crossing the
Anacostia River, the sentry on this road leading to the
South stopped him. What was he doing out on the road
that late? In wartime Washington, all important exits from
the city were controlled. But Booth merely told the man his
name and that he lived in Charles County. He was let
through, despite the fact that a nine o’clock curfew was
being rigidly enforced at that moment. Many later histori-
ans have found this incident odd, and have darkly pointed
to a conspiracy; It may well be that Surratt did arrange for

Lthe easy passage, as they had all along planned to use the

road over the Anacostia River bridge to make good their
escape.

A little later, Booth was joined on the road by David
Herold. Together they rode out to the Surratt tavern,
where they arrived around midnight. The purpose of their
visit there at that moment became clear to me only much
later. The tavern had of course been a meeting place for
Booth and Surratt and the others before Mrs. Surratt
moved her establishment to Washington. Shortly after, the
two men rode onward and entered the last leg of their jour-
ney. After a harrowing escape interrupted by temporary
stays at Dr. Mudd’s office at Bryantown — where Booth
had his leg looked after — and various attempts to cross the
Potomac, the two men holed up at Garrett’s farm near Port
Royal, Virginia. It was there that they were hunted down
like mad dogs by the Federal forces. Twelve days after
Lincoln’s murder, on April 26, 1865, Booth was shot
down. Even that latter fact is not certain: Had he commit-
ted suicide when he saw no way out of Garrett’s burning
barn, with soldiers all around it? Or had the avenger’s bul-
let of Sergeant Boston Corbett found its mark, as the sol-
dier had claimed?

It is not my intent here to go into the details of the
flight and capture, as these events are amply told else-
where. The mystery is not so much Booth’s crime and
punishment, about which there is no doubt, but the ques-
tion of who really plotted Lincoln’s death. The State
funeral was hardly over when all sorts of rumors and leg-
ends concerning the plot started to spring up.

Mrs. Surratt was arrested immediately, and she, along
with Paine, Atzerodt, and Herold were hanged after a trial
marked by prejudice and the withholding of vital informa-
tion, such as Booth’s own diary, which Secretary of War
Stanton had ordered confiscated and which was never
entered as an exhibit at the trial. This, along with the fact
that Stanton was at odds politically with Lincoln, gave rise
to various speculations concerning Stanton’s involvement in
the plot. Then, too, there was the question of the role John
Surratt had played, so much of it covered by secrecy, like
an iceburg with only a small portion showing above the
surface!

After he had escaped from the United States and
gone to Europe and then to Egypt, he was ultimately cap-
tured and extradited to stand trial in 1867. But a jury of
four Northerners and eight Southerners allowed him to go
free, when they could not agree on a verdict of guilty. Sur-
ratt moved to Baltimore, where he went into business and
died in 1916. Very little is known of his activities beyond
these bare facts. The lesser conspirators, those who merely
helped the murderer escape, were convicted to heavy prison
terms.

There was some to do about Booth’s body also. After
it had been identified by a number of people who knew

Assassination of a President:

Lincoln, Booth, and the Traitors Within

105

him in life, it was buried under the stone floor of the Arse-
nal Prison in Washington, the same prison where the four
other conspirators had been executed. But in 1867, the
prison was torn down and the five bodies exhumed. One of
them, presumed to be Booth’s, was interred in the family
plot in Greenmount Cemetery, Baltimore. Yet a rumor
arose, and never ceased, that actually someone else lay in
Booth’s grave and, though most historians refuse to take
this seriously, according to Philip Van Doren Stern, “the
question of whether or not the man who died at Garrett’s
Farm was John Wilkes Booth is one that doubtless will
never be settled.”

No accounts of any psychic nature concerning Booth
have been reported to date, and Booth’s ghost does not
walk the corridors of Ford’s Theatre the way Lincoln’s
does in the White Flouse. The spot where Garrett’s farm
used to stand is no longer as it was, and a new building
has long replaced the old barn.

If I were to shed new light or uncover fresh evidence
concerning the plot to kill Lincoln, I would have to go to a
place having emotional ties to the event itself. But the con-
stant refusal of the White Flouse to permit me a short visit
made it impossible for me to do so properly.

The questions that, to me, seem in need of clarifica-
tion concerned, first of all, the strange role John H. Surratt
had played in the plot; secondly, was Booth really the one
who initiated the murder, and was he really the leader of
the plot? One notices the close parallel between this case
and the assassination of President Kennedy.

As I began this investigation, my own feelings were
that an involvement of War Secretary Stanton could be
shown and that there probably was a northern plot to kill
Lincoln as well as a southern desire to get rid of him. But
that was pure speculation on my part, and I had as yet
nothing to back up my contention. Then fate played a let-
ter into my hands, out of left field, so to speak, that gave
me new hope for a solution to this exciting case.

A young girl by the name of Phyllis Amos, of Wash-
ington, Pennsylvania, had seen me on a television show in
the fall of 1967. She contacted me by letter, and as a con-
sequence I organized an expedition to the Surratt tavern,
the same tavern that had served as home to Mrs. Mary
Surratt and as a focal point of the Lincoln conspiracy prior
to the move to H Street in Washington.

Phyllis’ connection with the old tavern goes back to
1955. It was then occupied by a Mrs. Ella Curtain and by
Phyllis’ family, who shared the house with this elderly
lady. Mrs. Curtain’s brother B. K. Miler, a prosperous
supermarket owner nearby, was the actual owner of the
house, but the let his sister live there. Since it was a large
house, they subleased to the Amos family, which then con-
sisted of Mr. and Mrs. Amos and their two girls, about two
years apart in age.

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
106

Phyllis, who is now in her twenties, occupied a room
on the upper floor; across the narrow hall from her room
was Ella Curtain’s room — once the room where John
Wilkes Booth had hidden his guns. To the right of Phyllis’
bedroom and a few steps down was a large room where the
conspirators met regularly. It was shielded from the curious
by a small anteroom through which one would have to go
to reach the meeting room. Downstairs were the parents’
room and a large reception room. The house stood almost
directly on the road, surrounded by dark green trees. A
forlorn metal sign farther back was the sole indication that
this was considered a historical landmark: If you didn’t
know the sign was there, you wouldn’t find it unless you
were driving by at very slow speed.

Mrs. Amos never felt comfortable in the house from
the moment they moved in, and after eight months of
occupancy the Amos family left. But during those eight
months they experienced some pretty strange things. One
day she was alone in the house when it suddenly struck her
that someone was watching her intently. Terrified, she ran
to her bedroom and locked the door, not coming out until
her husband returned. The smaller of the two girls kept
asking her mother who the strange men were she saw sit-
ting on the back stairs. She would hear them talk in whis-
pers up there.

The other occupant of the house, Mrs. Curtain, was
certainly not a steadying influence on them. On one occa-
sion she saw the figure of a woman “float” down the front
steps. That woman, she felt sure, was Mary Surratt. The
house had of course been Mary Surratt’s true home, her
only safe harbor. The one she later owned in Washington
was merely a temporary and unsafe abode. Mightn’t she
have been drawn back here after her unjust execution to
seek justice, or at the very least to be among surroundings
she was familiar with?

The floating woman returned several times more, and
ultimately young Phyllis was to have an experience herself.
It was in April of 1955 and she was in bed in her room,
wide awake. Her bed stood parallel to the room where the
conspirators used to meet, separated from it only by a thin
wall, so that she might have heard them talk had she been
present at the time. Suddenly, she received several blows
on the side of her face. They were so heavy that they
brought tears to her eyes. Were the ghosts of the conspira-
tors trying to discourage her from eavesdropping on their
plans?

Both Phyllis and her mother have had ESP experi-
ences all their lives, ranging from premonitions to true
dreams and other forms of precognition.

I decided to contact the present owner and ask for
permission to visit with a good medium. Thomas Miller,
whose parents had owned the Surratt tavern and who now
managed it prior to having it restored, at great cost, to the
condition it was in a hundred years ago, readily assented.

So it was that on a very chilly day in November of 1967,
Sybil Leek and I flew down to Washington for a look at

the ghosts around John Wilkes Booth: If I couldn’t inter-
view the victim, Lincoln, perhaps I could have a go at the
murderer?

A friend, Countess Gertrude d’Amecourt, volun-
teered to drive us to Clinton. The directions the Millers
had given us were not too clear, so it took us twice as long
as it should have to get there. I think we must have taken
the wrong turn off the highway at least six times and in the
end got to know them all well, but got no nearer to Clinton.
Finally we were stopped by a little old woman who
wanted to hitch a ride with us. Since she was going in the
same direction, we let her come with us, and thanks to her
we eventually found Miller’s supermarket, about two hours
later than planned. But ghosts are not in a hurry, even
though Gertrude had to get back to her real estate office,
and within minutes we set out on foot to the old Surratt
tavern, located only a few blocks from the supermarket.
Phyllis Amos had come down from Pennsylvania to join
us, and as the wind blew harder and harder and our teeth
began to chatter louder and louder in the unseasonable
chill of the late afternoon, we pushed open the dusty, pad-
locked door of the tavern, and our adventure into the past
began.

Before I had a chance to ask Sybil Leek to wait until
I could put my tape recording equipment into operating
condition, she had dashed past us and was up the stairs as
if she knew where she was headed. She didn't, of course,
for she had no idea why she had been brought here or
indeed where she was. All of us — the Millers, Phyllis,
Gertrude d’Amecourt, and myself — ran up the stairs after
Sybil. We found her staring at the floor in what used to be
the John Wilkes Booth bedroom. Staring at the hole in the
floor where the guns had been hidden, she mumbled some-
thing about things being hidden there. . . not budging from
the spot. Thomas Miller, who had maintained a smug,
skeptical attitude about the whole investigation until now,
shook his head and mumbled, "But how would she know?”

It was getting pretty dark now and there was no elec-
tric light in the house. The smells were pretty horrible, too,
as the house had been empty for years, with neighborhood
hoodlums and drunks using it for "parties” or to sleep off
drunken sprees. There is always a broken back window in
those old houses, and they manage to get in.

We were surrounding Sybil now and shivering in
unison. “This place is different from the rest of the house,”
Sybil explained, “cold, dismal atmosphere. . . this is where
something happened.”

"What sort of thing do you think happened here?”

"A chase.”

How right she was! The two hunted men were indeed
on a chase from Washington, trying to escape to the South.
But again, Sybil would not know this consciously.

“This is where someone was a fugitive,” she contin-
ued now, "for several days, but he left this house and went
to the woodland.”

Booth hiding out in the woods for several days after
passing the tavern!

“Who is the man?” I asked, for I was not at all sure
who she was referring to. There were several men con-
nected with “the chase,” and for all we knew, it could have
been a total stranger somehow tied up with the tavern.

Lots of dramatic happenings attach themselves to old tav-
erns, which were far cries from Hilton hotels. People got
killed or waylaid in those days, and taverns, on the whole,
had sordid reputations. The good people stayed at each
other’s homes when traveling.

"Foreign . . . can’t get the name . . . hiding for several
days here . . . then there is ... a brother ... it is very
confusing.”

* * *

The foreigner might well have been Atzerodt, who
was indeed hiding at the tavern at various times. And the
brother?

* * *

“A man died suddenly, violently.” Sybil took up the
impressions she seemed to be getting now with more
depth. We were still standing around in the upstairs room,

near the window, with the gaping hole in the floor.

“How did he die?” I inquired.

“Trapped in the woods. . . hiding from soldiers, I
think.”

That would only fit Booth. He was trapped in the
woods and killed by soldiers.

“Why?”

“They were chasing him. . . he killed someone.”

“Who did he kill?”

“I don’t know. . .birthday . . .ran away to hide. . .1 see
a paper. . .invitation. . .there is another place we have to go
to, a big place. . .a big building with a gallery. . .”

Was she perhaps describing Ford’s Theatre now?

“Whose place is it?” I asked.

Sybil was falling more and more under the spell of
the place, and her consciousness bordered now on the
trance state.

“No one’s place. . .to see people. ..I’m confused. . .
lot of people go there. . .watching. . .a gathering. . .with
music. ..I’m not going there!!”

* * *

“Who is there?” I interjected. She must be referring
to the theater, all right. Evidently what Sybil was getting
here was the entire story, but jumbled as psychic impres-
sions often are, since they do not obey the ordinary laws of
time and space.

“My brother and I,” she said now. I had gently led
her toward another corner of the large room where a small

Assassination of a President:

Lincoln, Booth, and the Traitors Within

107

chair stood, in the hope of having her sit in it. But she was
already too deeply entranced to do it, so I let her lean
toward the chair, keeping careful watch so she would not
topple over.

“My brother is mad. . she said now, and her voice
was no longer the same, but had taken on a harder, metallic
sound. I later wondered about this remark: Was this
Edwin Booth, talking about his renegade brother John who
was indeed considered mad by many of his contempo-
raries? Edwin Booth frequently appeared at Ford’s Theatre,
and so did John Wilkes Booth.

"Why is he mad?” I said. I decided to continue the
questioning as if I were agreeing with all she — or he — was
saying, in order to elicit more information.

* * *

"Madman in the family . . . , ” Sybil said now, “killed
— a — friend. . ..”

“Whom did he kill?”

“No names. ..he was mad. ...”

"Would I know the person he killed?”

“Everybody — knows. ...”

“What is your brother’s name?”

“John.”

“What is your name?”

"Rory.”

At first it occurred to me this might be the name of a
character Edwin Booth had played on the stage and he was
hiding behind it, if indeed it was Edwin Booth who was
giving Sybil this information. But I have not found such a
character in the biographies of Edwin Booth. I decided to
press further by reiterating my original question.

"Whom did John kill?”

An impatient, almost impertinent voice replied, "I
won’t tell you. You can read!”

“What are you doing in this house?”

"Helping J ohn . . . escape ....’’

"Are you alone?”

“No... Trevor....”

"How many of you are there here?”

"Four.”

"Who are the others?”

“Traitors....”

"But what are their names?”

"Trevor. . .Michael. . .John. . ..”

These names caused me some concern afterward: I
could identify Michael readily enough as Michael
O’Laughlin, school chum of Booth, who worked as a livery
stable worker in Baltimore before he joined forces with his
friend. Michael O’Laughlin was one of the conspirators,
who was eventually sentenced to life imprisonment. But on
Stanton’s orders he and the other three “lesser” conspira-
tors were sent to the Dry Tortugas, America’s own version

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
108

of Devil’s Island, off Florida, and it was there that Michael
O’Laughlin died of yellow fever in 1868.

* * *

John? Since the communicator had referred to his
brother’s name as John, I could only surmise this to mean
John Wilkes Booth. But Trevor I could not identify. The
only conspirator whose middle name we did not know was
Samuel Arnold, also an ex-classmate of Booth. Was Trevor
perhaps the familiar name by which the conspirators
referred to this Maryland farmhand and Confederate
deserter?

I pressed the point further with Sybil.

“Who is in the house?”

“Go away ”

I explained my mission: to help them all find peace
of mind, freedom, deliverance.

“I'm going to the city — ” the communicator said.

"Which city?”

"The big city.”

“Why?”

"To stop him. . .he’s mad. . .take him away. . .to the
country to rest. . .to help him. . .give him rest. ...”

“Has he done anything wrong?”

“He. . .he’s my brother!"

“Did he kill anyone?”

“Killed that man. ...”

“Why did he kill him?”

Shouting at me, the entranced medium said, “He was
unjust!”

"Toward whom?”

“He was unjust toward the Irish people.”

Strange words, I thought. Only Michael O’Laughlin
could be considered a "professional” Irishman among the
conspirators, and one could scarcely accuse Lincoln of hav-
ing mistreated the Irish.

“What did he do?” I demanded to know.

"He did nothing.. ..”

"Why did he kill him then?”

“He was mad.”

“Do you approve of it?”

“Yes! ! He did not like him because he was unjust. . .
the law was wrong. . .his laws were wrong. . .free people. . .he
was confused....”

Now if this were indeed Edwin Booth’s spirit talking,
he would most certainly not have approved of the murder.
The resentment for the sake of the Irish minority could
only have come from Michael O’Laughlin. But the entity
kept referring to his brother, and only Edwin Booth had a
brother named John, connected with this house and story!
The trance session grew more and more confusing.

"Who else was in this?” I started again. Perhaps we
could get more information on the people behind the plot.
After all, we already knew the actual murderer and his
accomplices.

“Trevor... four....”

“Did you get an order from someone to do this?”

There was a long pause as the fully entranced psychic
kept swaying a little, with eyes closed, in front of the rick-
ety old chair.

I explained again why I had come, but it did not
help. "I don’t believe you,” the entity said in great agita-
tion, “Traitors....”

“You’ve long been forgiven,” 1 said, “but you must
speak freely about it now. What happened to the man he
killed?”

“My brother — became — famous. . . .”

This was followed by bitter laughter.

“What sort of work did your brother do?”

“ Writing ... acting .... ”

“Where did he act?”

“Go away. . .don’t search for me. ...”

“I want to help you.”

"Traitor. ..shot like a dog. . .the madman. . ..”

Sybil’s face trembled now as tears streamed freely
from her eyes. Evidently she was reliving the final mo-
ments of Booth’s agony. I tried to calm the communicator.

“Goaway...” the answer came, “goaway!”

But I continued the questioning. Did anyone put him
up to the deed?

“He was mad,” the entity explained, a little calmer

now.

“But who is guilty?”

“The Army.”

“Who in the Army?”

“He was wild. . .met people. . .they said they were
Army people . . . Major General ... Gee ... I ought to go
now!!”

Several things struck me when I went over this con-
versation afterward. To begin with, the communicator felt
he had said too much as soon as he had mentioned the per-
son of Major General Gee, or G., and wanted to leave.
Why? Was this something he should have kept secret?

Major General G.? Could this refer to Grant? Up to
March 1864 Grant was indeed a major general; after that
time Lincoln raised him to the rank of lieutenant general.
The thought seemed monstrous on the face of it, that
Grant could in any way be involved with a plot against
Lincoln. Politically, this seemed unlikely, because both
Grant and Lincoln favored the moderate treatment of the
conquered South as against the radicals, who demanded
stern measures. Stanton was a leading radical, and if any-
one he would have had a reason to plot against Lincoln.
And yet, by all appearances, he served him loyally and
well. But Grant had political aspirations of a personal
nature, and he succeeded Lincoln after Johnson’s unhappy
administration.

I decided to pursue my line of questioning further to
see where it might lead.

I asked Sybil’s controlling entity to repeat the name
of this Army general. Faintly but clear enough it came
from her entranced lips:

" Gee ... G - E - E - ... Maj or General Robert Gee . ”

Then it wasn't Grant, I thought. But who in blazes
was it? If there existed such a person I could find a record,
but what “if it was merely a cover name?”

“Did you see this man yourself?”

“No.”

“Then did your brother tell you about him?”

“Yes.”

“Where did they meet?”

Hesitatingly, the reply came.

“In the city. This city. In a club. ...”

I decided to change my approach.

“What year is this?” I shot at him.

“Forty-nine.”

“What does forty-nine mean to you?"

“Forty-nine means something important. ...”

“How old are you now?”

“Thirty-four.”

He then claimed to have been born in Lowell, Vir-
ginia, and I found myself as puzzled as ever: It did not fit
Edwin, who was born in 1833 on the Booth homestead at
Belair, Maryland. Confusion over confusion!

“Did anyone else but the four of you come here?” I
finally asked.

"Yes. . .Major. . .Robert Gee. ...”

"What did he want?”

"Bribery.”

“What did he pay?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he give him any money?”

"Yes."

"What was he supposed to do?”

“Cause a disturbance. In the gallery. Then plans
would be put into operation. To hold up the law.”

“Did your brother do what he was supposed to do?”

“He was mad. . .he killed him.”

“Then who was guilty?”

“Gee. ...”

“Who sent Gee? For whom did he speak?”

We were getting close to the heart of the matter and
the others were grouping themselves closely around us, the
better to hear. It was quite dark outside and the chill of the
November afternoon crept into our bones with the result
that we started to tremble with the wet cold. But nobody
moved or showed impatience. American history was being
relived, and what did a little chill matter in comparison?

“He surveyed.

“Who worked with him?”

“The government.”

“Who specifically?”

“I don’t know.”

It did not sound convincing. Was he still holding out
on us?

Assassination of a President:

Lincoln, Booth, and the Traitors Within

109

“Were there others involved? Other men? Other
women?”

A derisive laughter broke the stillness.

“Jealous. . .jealousy. . .his wife. ...”

“Whose wife?”

“The one who was killed. . .shot.”

* * *

That I found rather interesting, for it is a historical
fact that Mrs. Lincoln was extremely jealous and, accord-
ing to Carl Sandburg, perhaps the most famous Lincoln
biographer, never permitted her husband to see a woman
alone — for any reason whatever. The Lincolns had fre-
quent spats for that reason, and jealousy was a key charac-
teristic of the President’s wife.

“Why are we in this room?” I demanded.

“Waiting for. . .what am I waiting for?” the commu-
nicator said, in a voice filled with despair.

"I’d like to know that myself,” I nodded. “Is there
anything of interest for you here?”

“Yes. . .1 have to stay here until John comes back.
Where’s John?”

“And what will you do when he comes back?”

“Take him to Lowell. . .my home. ...”

“Whom do you live with there?”

“Julia. . .my girl. . .take him to rest there.”

“Where is John now?”

"In the woods. . .hiding.”

“Is anyone with him?”

"Two. . .they should be back soon.”

Again the entity demanded to know why I was asking
all those questions and again I reassured him that I was a
friend. But I have to know everything in order to help him.
Who then was this Major General Gee?

“Wants control,” the voice said, "1 don't understand
the Army. . .politics. . .he’s altering the government. ...”

"Altering the government?” I repeated, “On whose
side is he?”

"Insurgent side.”

“Is he in the U. S. Government?”

“My brother knows them. . .they have the
government.”

"But who are they? What are their names?”

“They had numbers. Forty-nine. It means the area.
The area they look after.”

"Is anyone in the government involved with these
insurgents?”

“John knows. . .John’s dead. . .knew too much. . .the
names. . .he wasn’t all. ..he’s mad!”

“Who killed him?”

"Soldier.”

“Why did he kill him?” I was now referring to John
Wilkes Booth and the killing of the presidential assassin by

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

Sergeant Boston Corbett, allegedly because “God told him
to,” as the record states.

“Hunted him.”

“But who gave the order to kill him?”

“The government.”

“You say, he knew too much. What did he know?”

“I don’t know the names, I know only I wait for
John. John knows the names. He was clever.”

“Was anyone in this government involved?”

“Traitors. . .in the head of the Army.. . . Sher. . .must
not tell you, John said not to speak. ...”

“You must speak!” I commanded, almost shouting.

"Sherman. . .Colonel. . .he knows Sherman. . . . John
says to say nothing

"Does Sherman know about it?”

“I don’t know. ..I am not telling you any more.
he said, trembling again with tears, “Everybody asks ques-
tions. You are not helping me.”

“I will try to help you if you don’t hold back,” I
promised. "Who paid your brother?”

“Nothing. . .promised to escape. . .look after
him... promised a ticket....”

“How often did your brother see this officer?”

“Not too often. Here. John told me. . .some things.
John said not to talk. He is not always mad.”

“Who is the woman with him?” I tried to see if it
would trick him into talking about others.

“She's a friend,” the communicator said without
hesitation.

“What is her name?”

"Harriet.”

“Where does she live?”

"In the city.”

"How does he know her?”

“He went to play there. . .he liked her. .

Evidently this was some minor figure of no impor-
tance to the plot. I changed directions again. “You are free
to leave here now, John wants you to go,” I said, slowly.
After all, I could not let this poor soul, whoever he was,
hang on here for all eternity!

"Where are we?” he asked, sounding as confused as

ever.

“A house....”

"My house?... No, Melville’s house....”

“Who is Melville?”

"Friend of Gee. Told me to come here, wait for
John.”

“You are free to go, free!” I intoned.

“Free?” he said slowly. “Free country?”

“A hundred years have gone by. Do you understand

me?”

“No.”

The voice became weaker as if the entity were drift-
ing away. Gradually Sybil’s body seemed to collapse and I
was ready to catch her, should she fall. But in time she
“came back” to herself. Awakening, as if she had slept a

110

long time, she looked around herself, as completely con-
fused as the entity had been. She remembered absolutely
nothing of the conversation between the ghost and myself.

For a moment none of us said anything. The silence
was finally broken by Thomas Miller, who seemed visibly
impressed with the entire investigation. He knew very well
that the hole in the floor was a matter he was apt to point
out to visitors in the house, and that no visitors had come
here in a long time, as the house had been in disrepair for
several years. How could this strange woman with the Eng-
lish accent whom he had never met before in his life, or for
that matter, how could I, a man he only knew by corre-
spondence, know about it? And how could she head
straight for the spot in the semi-darkness of an unlit house?
That was the wedge that opened the door to his acceptance
of what he had witnessed just now.

* * *

“It’s cold,” Sybil murmured, and wrapped herself
deeper into her black shawl. But she has always been a
good sport, and did not complain. Patiently, she waited
further instructions from me. I decided it was time to
introduce everybody formally now, as I had of course not
done so on arrival in order to avoid Sybil’s picking up any
information or clues.

Phyllis Amos then showed us the spot where she had
been hit by unseen hands, and pointed out the area where
her younger sister Lynn, seven at the time and now nine-
teen, had heard the voices of a group of men whom she
had also seen huddled together on the back stairs.

"I too thought I heard voices here,” Phyllis Amos
commented. "It sounded like the din of several voices but I
couldn’t make it out clearly.”

I turned to Thomas Miller, who was bending down
now toward the hole in the floor.

“This is where John Wilkes Booth hid his guns,” he
said, anticlimactically. “The innkeeper, Lloyd, also gave
him some brandy, and then he rode on to where Dr. Mudd
had his house in Bryan town.”

“You heard the conversation that came through my
psychic friend, Mr. Miller,” I said. “Do you care to com-
ment on some of the names? For instance, did John Wilkes
Booth have a brother along those lines?”

“My father bought this property from John Wilkes’
brother,” Miller said, “the brother who went to live in Bal-
timore after John Wilkes was killed; later he went to
England.”

That, of course, would be Edwin Booth, the "Prince
of Players,” who followed his sister Asia’s advice to try his
luck in the English theater.

* * *

I found this rather interesting. So Surratt’s tavern had
once belonged to Edwin Booth — finger of fate!

Mr. Miller pointed out something else of interest to
me. While I had been changing tapes, during the interro-

gation of the communicator speaking through Sybil, I had
missed a sentence or two. My question had been about the
ones behind the killing.

“S-T-.. .” the communicator had whispered. Did it
mean Stanton?

“John Wilkes Booth was very familiar with this
place, of course,” Miller said in his Maryland drawl. "This
is where the conspirators used to meet many times. Mary
Surratt ran this place as a tavern. Nothing has changed in
this house since then.”

* * *

From Thomas Miller I also learned that plans were
afoot to restore the house at considerable cost, and to make
it into a museum.

* * *

We thanked our host and piled into the car. Sud-
denly I remembered that I had forgotten my briefcase
inside the house, so I raced back and recovered it. The
house was now even colder and emptier, and I wondered if
I might hear anything unusual — but I didn’t. Rather than
hang around any longer, I joined the others in the car and
we drove back to Washington.

I asked Countess d’Amecourt to stop once more at a
house I felt might have some relationship with the case.
Sybil, of course, had no idea why we got out to look at an
old house on H Street. It is now a Chinese restaurant and
offers no visible clues to its past.

“I feel military uniforms, blue colors here,” Sybil said
as we all shuddered in the cold wind outside. The house
was locked and looked empty. My request to visit it had
never been answered.

"What period?”

“Perhaps a hundred years. . .nothing very strong
here. . .the initial S. ..a man. . .rather confusing.. .a meet-
ing place more than a residence. . .not too
respectable. . .meeting house for soldiers. . .Army. ...”

"Is there a link between this house and where we
went earlier this afternoon?”

“The Army is the link somehow. ...”

* * *

After I had thanked the Countess d’Amecourt for her
help, Sybil and I flew back to New York.

For days afterward I pondered the questions arising
from this expedition. Was the “S” linking the house on H
Street — which was Mary Surratt’s Washington boarding
house — the same man as the "S-T- ... ” Sybil had whis-
pered to me at Mary Surratt’s former country house? Were
both initials referring to Secretary Stanton and were the
rumors true after all?

Assassination of a President:
Lincoln, Booth, and the Traitors Within

111

* * *

The facts of history, in this respect, are significant.
Lincoln’s second term was actively opposed by the forces
of the radical Republicans. They thought Lincoln too soft
on the rebels and feared that he would make an easy peace
with the Confederacy. They were quite right in this
assumption, of course, and all through Lincoln’s second
term of office, his intent was clear. That is why, in mur-
dering Abraham Lincoln, Booth actually did the South a
great disservice.

In the spring of 1864, when the South seemed to be
on its last legs, the situation in Washington also came to a
point where decisions would have to be made soon. The
“hawks," to use a contemporary term, could count on the
services of Stanton, the War Secretary, and of Seward, Sec-
retary of State, plus many lesser officials and officers, of
course. The “doves” were those in actual command, how-
ever— Lincoln himself, Grant, and Vice President Johnson,
himself a Southerner. Logically, the time of crisis would be
at hand the moment Grant had won victory in his com-
mand and Sherman, the other great commander, on his end
of the front. By a strange set of circumstances, the assassi-
nation took place precisely at that moment: Both Grant
and Sherman had eminently succeeded and peace was at
hand.

* * *

Whenever Booth's motive in killing Lincoln has been
described by biographers, a point is made that it was both
Booth’s madness and his attempt to avenge the South that
caused him to commit the crime. Quite so, but the assassi-
nation made a lot more sense in terms of a northern plot by
conveniently removing the chief advocate of a soft peace
treaty just at the right moment!

This was not a trifling matter. Lincoln had proposed
to go beyond freeing the slaves: to franchise the more intel-
ligent ones among them to vote. But he had never envi-
sioned general and immediate equality of newly freed
blacks and their former masters. To the radicals, however,
this was an absolute must as was the total takeover of
southern assets. While Lincoln was only too ready to
accept any southern state back into the Union fold that was
willing to take the oath of loyalty, the radicals would hear
of no such thing. They foresaw a long period of military
government and rigid punishment for the secessionist
states.

Lincoln often expressed the hope that Jefferson Davis
and his chief aides might just leave the country to save him
the embarrassment of having to try them. Stanton and his
group, on the other hand, were pining for blood, and it was
on Stanton’s direct orders that the southern conspirators
who killed Lincoln were shown no mercy; it was Stanton
who refused to give in to popular sentiment against the

CHAPTER FIVE^Famous Ghosts
112

hanging of a woman and who insisted that Mrs. Surratt
share the fate of the other principal conspirators.

Stanton’s stance at Lincoln’s death — his remark that
“now he belongs to the ages” and his vigorous pursuit of
the murderers in no way mitigates a possible secret
involvement in a plot to kill the President. According to
Stefan Lorant, he once referred to his commander -in -chief
Lincoln as “the original gorilla.” He frequently refused to
carry out Lincoln’s orders when he thought them “too
soft.” On April 11, three days prior to the assassination,
Lincoln had incurred not only Stanton’s anger but that of
the entire Cabinet by arranging to allow the rebel Virginia
legislature to function as a state government. “Stanton and
the others were in a fury,” Carl Sandburg reports, and the
uproar was so loud Lincoln did not go through with his
intent. But it shows the deep cleavage that existed between
the liberal President and his radical government on the
very eve of his last day!

* * *

Then, too, there was the trial held in a hurry and
under circumstances no modern lawyer would call proper
or even constitutional. Evidence was presented in part,
important documents — such as Booth’s own diary — were
arbitrarily suppressed and kept out of the trial by order of
Secretary Stanton, who also had impounded Booth’s per-
sonal belongings and any and all documents seized at the
Surratt house on H Street, giving defense attorneys for the
accused, especially Mrs. Mary Surratt, not the slightest
opportunity to build a reasonable defense for their clients.

That was as it should be, from Stanton’s point of
view: fanning the popular hatred by letting the conspirators
appear in as unfavorable a light as possible, a quick convic-
tion and execution of the judgment, so that no sympathy
could rise among the public for the accused. There was
considerable oppostion to the hanging of Mrs. Surratt, and
committees demanding her pardon were indeed formed.
But by the time these committees were able to function
properly, the lady was dead, convicted on purely circum-
stantial evidence: Her house had been the meeting place for
the conspirators, but it was never proven that she was part
of the conspiracy. In fact, she disapproved of the murder
plot, according to the condemned, but the government
would not accept this view. Her own son John H. Surratt,
sitting the trial out in Canada, never lifted a hand to save
his mother — perhaps he thought Stanton would not dare
execute her.

* * *

Setting aside for the moment the identity of the spirit
communicator at the Surratt tavern, 1 examined certain
aspects of this new material: Certainly Sherman himself
could not have been part of an anti-Lincoln plot, for he
was a “dove,” strictly a Lincoln man. But a member of his
staff — perhaps the mysterious colonel — might well have
been involved. Sybil’s communicator had stated that Booth

knew all about those Army officers who were either using
him or were in league with him, making, in fact, the assas-
sination a dual plot of southern avengers and northern
hawks. If Booth knew these names, he might have put the
information into his personal diary. This diary was written
during his fight, while he was hiding from his pursuers in
the wooded swamplands of Maryland and Virginia.

At the conspiracy trial, the diary was not even men-
tioned, but at the subsequent trial of John H. Surratt, two
years later, it did come to light. That is, Lafayette Baker,
head of the Secret Service at the time of the murder, men-
tioned its existence, and it was promptly impounded for
the trial. But when it was produced as evidence in court,
only two pages were left in it — the rest had been torn out
by an unknown hand! Eighteen pages were missing. The
diary had been in Stanton’s possession from the moment of
its seizure until now, and it was highly unlikely that Booth
himself had so mutilated his own diary the moment he had
finished writing it! To the contrary, the diary was his
attempt to justify himself before his contemporaries, and
before history. The onus of guilt here falls heavily upon
Secretary Stanton again.

It is significant that whoever mutilated the diary had
somehow spared an entry dated April 21, 1865:

"Tonight I will once more try the river, with the
intention to cross; though I have a greater desire and
almost a mind to return to Washington, and in a measure
clear my name, which I feel I can do.”

* * *

Philip Van Doren Stern, author of The Man Who
Killed Lincoln, quite rightfully asks, how could a self-
confessed murderer clear his name unless he knew some-
thing that would involve other people than himself and his
associates? Stern also refers to David Herold’s confession in
which the young man quotes Booth as telling him that
there was a group of thirty-five men in Washington involved
in the plot.

Sybil's confused communicator kept saying certain
numbers, "forty-nine” and "thirty-four.” Could this be the
code for Stanton and a committee of thirty-four men?

Whoever they were, not one of the northern conspira-
tors ever confessed their part in the crime, so great was
the popular indignation at the deed.

John H. Surratt, after going free as a consequence of
the inability of his trial jury to agree on a verdict, tried his
hand at lecturing on the subject of the assassination. He
only gave a single lecture, which turned out a total failure.
Nobody was interested. But a statement Surratt made at
that lecture fortunately has come down to us. He admitted
that another group of conspirators had been working inde-
pendently and simultaneously to strike a blow at Lincoln.

That Surratt would make such a statement fits right
in with the facts. He was a courier and undercover man for
the Confederacy, with excellent contacts in Washington. It
was he who managed to have the telegraph go out of order

during the murder and to allow Booth to pass the sentry at
the Navy Yard bridge without difficulty. But was the com-
municator speaking through Mrs. Leek not holding back
information at first, only to admit finally that John Wilkes
knew the names of those others, after all?

This differs from Philip Van Doren Stern’s account,
in which Booth was puzzled about the identities of his
“unknown” allies. But then, Stern didn’t hold a trance ses-
sion at the Surratt tavern, either. Until our visit in Novem-
ber of 1967, the question seemed up in the air.

Surratt had assured Booth that “his sources” would
make sure that they all got away safely. In other words,
Booth and his associates were doing the dirty work for the
brain trust in Washington, with John Surratt serving both
sides and in a way linking them together in an identical
purpose — though for totally opposite reasons.

Interestingly enough, the entranced Sybil spoke of a
colonel who knew Sherman, and who would look after
him. . .he would supply a ticket. . . ! That ticket might have
been a steamer ticket for some foreign ship going from
Mexico to Europe, where Booth could be safe. But who
was the mysterious Major General Gee? Since Booth’s
group was planning to kill Grant as well, would he be
likely to be involved in the plot on the northern end?

Lincoln had asked Grant and Mrs. Grant to join him
at Ford’s Theatre the fateful evening; Grant had declined,
explaining that he wished to join his family in New Jersey
instead. Perhaps that was a natural enough excuse to turn
down the President’s invitation, but one might also con-
strue it differently: Did he know about the plot and did he
not wish to see his President shot?

Booth’s choice of the man to do away with Grant had
fallen on John Surratt, as soon as he learned of the change
in plans. Surratt was to get on the train that took Grant to
New Jersey. But Grant was not attacked; there is no evi-
dence whatever that Surratt ever took the train, and he
himself said he didn’t. Surratt, then, the go-between of the
two groups of conspirators, could easily have warned Grant
himself: The Booth group wanted to kill Lincoln and his
chief aides, to make the North powerless; but the northern
conspirators would have only wanted to have Lincoln
removed and certainly none of their own men. Even
though Grant was likely to carry out the President’s "soft”
peace plans while Lincoln was his commander-in-chief, he
was a soldier accustomed to taking orders and would carry
out with equal loyalty the hard-line policies of Lincoln’s
successor! Everything here points to Surratt as having been,
in effect, a double agent.

But was the idea of an involvement of General Grant
really so incredible?

Wilson Sullivan, author of a critical review of a
recently published volume of The Papers of Andrew

Assassination of a President:
Lincoln. Booth, and the Traitors Within

113

Johnson, has this to say of Grant, according to the Saturday
Review of Literature, March 16, 1968:

"Despite General Grant’s professed acceptance of
Lincoln’s policy of reconciliation with the Southern whites,
President Grant strongly supported and implemented the
notorious Ku Klux Act in 1871

This was a law practically disenfranchising Southern-
ers and placing them directly under federal courts rather
than local and state authorities.

It was Grant who executed the repressive policies of
the radical Republican Congress and who reverted to the
hard-line policies of the Stanton clique after he took politi-
cal office, undoing completely whatever lenient measures
President Johnson had instituted following the assassina-
tion of his predecessor.

But even before Grant became President, he was the
man in power. Since the end of the Civil War, civil admin-
istrations had governed the conquered South. In March
1867, these were replaced by military governments in five
military districts. The commanders of these districts were
directly responsible to General Grant and disregarded any
orders from President Johnson. Civil rights and state laws
were broadly ignored. The reasons for this perversion of
Lincoln’s policies were not only vengeance on the Confed-
eracy, but political considerations as well: By delaying the
voting rights of Southerners, a Republican Congress could
keep itself in office that much longer. Sullivan feels that
this attitude was largely responsible for the emergence of
the Ku Klux Klan and other racists organizations in the
South.

Had Lincoln lived out his term, he would no doubt
have implemented a policy of rapid reconciliation, the
South would have regained its political privileges quickly,
and the radical Republican party might have lost the next
election.

That party was led by Secretary Stanton and General
Grant!

What a convenient thing it was to have a southern
conspiracy at the proper time! All one had to do is get
aboard and ride the conspiracy to the successful
culmination — then blame it all on the South, thereby doing
a double job, heaping more guilt upon the defeated Con-
federacy and ridding the country of the one man who could
forestall the continuance in power of the Stanton-Grant
group!

That Stanton might have been the real leader in the
northern plot is not at all unlikely. The man was given to
rebellion when the situation demanded it. President
Andrew Johnson had tried to continue the Lincoln line in
the face of a hostile Congress and even a Cabinet domi-
nated by radicals. In early 1868, Johnson tried to oust Sec-
retary Stanton from his Cabinet because he realized that
Stanton was betraying his policies. But Stanton defied his
chief and barricaded himself in the War Department. This

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

intolerable situation led to Johnson’s impeachment pro-
ceedings, which failed by a single vote.

There was one more tragic figure connected with the
events that seemed to hold unresolved mysteries: Mrs.
Mary Surratt, widow of a Confederate spy and mother of
another. On April 14, 1865, she invited her son’s friend,
and one of her boarders, Louis Weichman, to accompany
her on an errand to her old country home, now a tavern, at
Surrattsville. Weichmann gladly obliged Mrs. Surratt and
went down to hire a buggy. At the tavern, Mrs. Surratt
went out carrying a package which she described to Weich-
mann as belonging to Booth. This package she handed to
tavernkeeper John Lloyd inside the house to safekeep for
Booth. It contained the guns the fugitives took with them
later, after the assassination had taken place.

Weichmann ’s testimony of this errand, and his
description of the meetings at the H Street house, were
largely responsible for Mrs. Surratt’s execution, even
though it was never shown that she had anything to do
with the murder plot itself. Weichmann ’s testimony
haunted him all his life, for Mrs. Surratt’s “ghost,” as
Lloyd Lewis puts it in Myths After Lincoln, “got up and
walked” in 1868 when her "avengers” made political capital
of her execution, charging Andrew Johnson with having
railroaded her to death.

Mrs. Surratt’s arrest at 1 1:15 P.M., April 17, 1865,
came as a surprise to her despite the misgivings she had
long harbored about her son’s involvement with Booth and
the other plotters. Lewis Paine’s untimely arrival at the
house after it had already been raided also helped seal her
fate. At the trial that followed, none of the accused was
ever allowed to speak, and their judges were doing every-
thing in their power to link the conspiracy with the confed-
erate government, even to the extent of producing false
witnesses, who later recanted their testimonies.

If anyone among the condemned had the makings of a
ghost, it was Mary Surratt.

Soon after her execution and burial, reports of her
haunting the house on H Street started. The four bodies of
the executed had been placed inside the prison walls and
the families were denied the right to bury them.

When Annie Surratt could not obtain her mother's
body, she sold the lodging house and moved away from the
home that had seen so much tragedy. The first buyer of
the house had little luck with it, however. Six weeks later
he sold it again, even though he had bought it very
cheaply. Other tenants came and went quickly, and accord-
ing to the Boston Post, which chronicled the fate of the
house, it was because they saw the ghost of Mrs. Surratt
clad in her execution robe walking the corridors of her
home! That was back in the 1860s and 1870s. Had Mary
Surratt found peace since then? Her body now lies buried
underneath a simple gravestone at Mount Olivet Cemetery.

The house at 604 H Street, N.W. still stands. In the
early 1900s, a Washington lady dined at the house. During
dinner, she noticed the figure of a young girl appear and

114

walk up the stairs. She recognized the distraught girl as the
spirit of Annie Surratt, reports John McKelway in the
Washington Star. The Chinese establishment now occupy-
ing the house does not mind the ghosts, either mother or
daughter. And Ford Theatre has just been restored as a
legitimate theatre, to break the ancient jinx.

Both Stern and Emanuel Hertz quote an incident in
the life of Robert Lincoln, whom a Mr. Young discovered
destroying many of his father’s private papers. When he
remonstrated with Lincoln, the son replied that "the papers
he was destroying contained the documentary evidence of
the treason of a member of Lincoln’s Cabinet, and he
thought it best for all that such evidence be destroyed.”

Mr. Young enlisted the help of Nicholas Murray
Butler, later head of Columbia University, New York, to
stop Robert Lincoln from continuing this destruction. The
remainder of the papers were then deposited in the Library
of Congress, but we don’t know how many documents
Robert Lincoln had already destroyed when he was halted.

There remains only the curious question as to the
identity of our communicator at the Surratt tavern in
November 1967.

“Shot down like a dog,” the voice had complained
through the psychic.

“Hunted like a dog,” Booth himself wrote in his
diary. Why would Edwin Booth, who had done everything
in his power to publicly repudiate his brother’s deed, and
who claimed that he had little direct contact with John
Wilkes in the years before the assassination — why would
he want to own this house that was so closely connected
with the tragedy and John Wilkes Booth? Who would
think that the “Prince of Players,” who certainly had no
record of any involvement in the plot to kill Lincoln,
should be drawn back by feelings of guilt to the house so
intimately connected with his brother John Wilkes?

But he did own it, and sell it to B. K. Miller,

Thomas Miller’s father!

I couldn’t find any Lowell, Virginia on my maps, but
there is a Laurel, Maryland not far from Surrattsville, or
today’s Clinton.

Much of the dialogue fits Edwin Booth, owner of the
house. Some of it doesn’t, and some of it might be deliber-
ate coverup.

Mark you, this is not a "ghost” in the usual sense,
for nobody reported Edwin Booth appearing to them at
this house. Mrs. Surratt might have done so, both here and
at her town house, but the principal character in this fasci-
nating story has evidently lacked the inner torment that is
the basis for ghostly manifestations beyond time and space.
Quite so, for to John Wilkes Booth the deed was the work
of a national hero, not to be ashamed of at all. If anything,
the ungrateful Confederacy owed him a debt of thanks.

No, I decided, John Wilkes Booth would not make a
convincing ghost. But Edwin? Was there more to his rela-
tionship with John Wilkes than the current published
record shows? "Ah, there’s the rub. . . ” the Prince of Play-
ers would say in one of his greatest roles.

Then, too, there is the peculiar mystery of John Sur-
ratt’s position. He had broken with John Wilkes Booth
weeks before the murder, he categorically stated at his trial
in 1867. Yes, he had been part of the earlier plot to abduct
Lincoln, but murder, no. That was not his game.

* * *

It was my contention, therefore, that John Surratt's
role as a dual agent seemed highly likely from the evidence
available to me, both through objective research and psy-
chic contacts. We may never find the mysterious colonel
on Sherman’s staff, nor be able to identify with certainty
Major General “Gee.” But War Secretary Stanton’s role
looms ominously and in sinister fashion behind the gener-
ally accepted story of the plot.

* * *

If Edwin Booth came through Sybil Leek to tell us
what he knew of his brother’s involvement in Lincoln’s
death, perhaps he did so because John Wilkes never got
around to clear his name himself. Stanton may have seen to
that, and the disappearing diary and unseeming haste of
the trial all fall into their proper places.

* * *

It is now over a hundred years after the event. Will
we have to wait that long before we know the complete
truth about another President’s murder?

Assassination of a President:
Lincoln, Booth, and the Traitors Within

115

* 10

A Visit with Woodrow Wilson

The Washington Post may have published an occa-
sional phantom story over the years, but not too many
ghost stories. Thus it was with a degree of skepticism that
I picked up a copy of that ebullient newspaper dated May
4, 1969. It had been sent to me by a well-meaning friend
and fan living in Washington. Mrs. Charles Marwick, her-
self a writer and married to a medical writer, is of Scottish
ancestry and quite prone to pick up a ghost story here and
there.

The piece in question had attracted her attention as
being a little bit above the usual cut of the journalistic
approach to that sort of material. Generally, my newspaper
colleagues like to make light of any psychic report, and if
the witnesses are respectable, or at least rational on the sur-
face of it, they will report the events but still add a funny
tag line or two to make sure that no one takes their own
attitude toward the supernatural too seriously.

Thus, when I saw the headline, “Playing Host to
Ghosts?" I was wormed. This looked like one of those
light-hearted, corny approaches to the psychic. I thought,
but when I started to read the report by Phil Casey I real-
ized that the reporter was trying to be fair to both his edi-
tor and the ghosts.

The Woodrow Wilson House at 2340 S St. NW is a
quiet, serene place most of the time, with only about
1 50 visitors a week but sometimes at night there’s more
noise than Jose Vasquez, the house man, can stand.

Vasquez has been hearing queer, and sometimes
loud, noises in the night a couple of times a year for the
past four years, but they didn't bother him much until
the stroke of midnight, Saturday, April 5.

“It was depressing,” he said. “If I were a nervous
man, it would be very bad.”

Vasquez, who is 32, is from Peru, speaks four lan-
guages, plays the piano and is a student at D.C. Teach-
ers College, where he intends to major in psychology.

He doesn't believe in ghosts, but he’s finding it hard to
hold that position the way things are going around that
house.

He was downstairs playing the piano that night, he
said, and he was all alone (his wife, a practical nurse,
was at work at the National Institute of Health).

"I felt that someone was behind me, watching me,"
he said. "My neck felt funny. You know? But there was
no one there. I looked."

Later, Vasquez was walking up to his fourth-floor
apartment when he heard something behind him on the
third floor, near the bedrooms of the World War I Pres-
ident and his wife.

“The steps were loud,” he said, “and heavy, like a
man.”

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

The footsteps went into Mrs. Wilson’s bedroom, and
Vasquez went in, too. He kept hearing the steps in the
room, and was in a state of almost total unhappiness.

“I go to this comer,” he said, going to the corner,

“and I stand here and wait. I waited a long time and
then I hear the steps again, going into the hall and to
Mr. Wilson's bedroom. I follow.”

At that point, listening to the heavy footsteps at the
foot of the President’s four-poster bed, Vasquez decided
to hurry upstairs.

"And when I do, the steps they came running behind
me," he said, "and they follow me, bump, bump, bump,
up the stairs. I am very nervous.”

The back stairway is iron, and noisy, which didn’t
help any, Vasquez said, but he went on up to his
apartment.

And then, he heard no more footsteps and he was
glad about that.

Once, some time back, Vasquez was in his tub when
he heard some knocking noises on the tub.

“I knock right back, like this," he said, thumping the
tub, "and the noise stops."

His wife has never heard the footsteps or the tub
knocking, but she hears an occasional noise and some-
times she wakes up in the night under the impression
that someone is standing at the foot of the bed. There
never is anyone she can see.

I talked to Mr. Vasquez, and he sounded like a very
nice, rational fellow. He had nothing to add to the story
that had appeared in the Post, but he referred me to the
curator of the Wilson House for permission to visit.

I contacted Ruth Dillon and patiently explained the
purpose of my investigation. As much as I tried to stress
the historic aspects of it, she already knew from my name
what I was after, and to my surprise did not object; so long
as I did not publish anything untrue, she did not mind my
talking about any specters that might be on the premises,
famous or otherwise.

I knew very little about the late Woodrow Wilson
myself, except what one generally knows of any President
of the United States, and I made it a point not to read up
on him. Instead I called Ethel Johnson Meyers, my good
friend and many times my medium, and arranged for her
to accompany me to Washington in the near future. Due
to a sudden cancellation in Mrs. Meyers’ busy schedule,
the date we were able to set was May 6, 1969, three days
after the reporter had written his article. A good friend of
mine, Mrs. Nicole Jackson, offered to drive us around
since I do not drive a car, and the three of us arrived at the
Woodrow Wilson House at the appointed hour.

That hour was 1 1 A. M., on a sunny and very warm
May 6. The house was majestic, even from the outside. It
looked the very essence of a presidential mansion. It looked
that way to me today, although I gather that in the days
when this house was built, such houses were not consid-
ered ostentatious but rather ordinary elegant town houses
for those who could afford them.

116

Now the property of the National Trust, the house
has been turned into a museum, and visitors are admitted
at certain hours of the day. Four stories high, it also boasts
a magnificent garden in the back and offers the privacy of a
country estate along with the convenience of a town house.
It is difficult to accurately describe the style of this build-
ing. Built for Henry Parker Fairbanks in 1915, the red-
brick Georgian house was designed by the architect Waddy
B. Wood. Late in 1920, as President Wilson's second term
neared its end, Mrs. Wilson searched for an appropriate
residence. She happened to be passing the house on
S Street, which she is later quoted as describing as “an
unpretentious, comfortable, dignified house, fitted to the
needs of a gentleman.” On December 14 of that year,
according to the brochure published by the National Trust
about the Woodrow Wilson House, Mr. Wilson insisted
that his wife attend a concert, and when she returned, pre-
sented her with the deed to the property. The next day
they visited the house, where Mr. Wilson gave her a piece
of sod, representing the land, and the key to one of the
doors, representing the house — telling her this was an old
Scottish custom.

The Wilsons made certain changes, such as the
installation of an elevator and the addition of a billiard
room. They also constructed a brick garage and placed iron
gates at the entrance to the drive. Some of the rooms were
changed, and a large library was constructed to hold Mr.
Wilson’s eight thousand books. Today the library contains
a large collection of items connected with President Wilson
and his contemporaries. These are mainly presentation
copies of books and documents.

President Wilson lived in the house with his second
wife, Edith Bolling Wilson. She was a devoted companion
to him during his last years, went to Europe with him to
attend peace conferences, and generally traveled with the
President. She liked to read to him and he, conversely,
liked to read to her, and in general they were a very close
and devoted couple.

At the end of his second term he retired to this
house, and died here three years later on February 3, 1924.
Mrs. Wilson, who later presented the house to the Ameri-
can people under the guardianship of the National Trust,
also lived and died there on December 28, 1961 , which
happened to be the 105th anniversary of President Wil-
son's birth.

By and large the rooms have been kept as they were
during their tenancy, with the sole addition of certain items
such as furniture, antiquities, and documents pertaining to
the Wilsons’ careers and lifetimes. If the house is a
museum, it doesn’t look like one. It is more like a shrine —
but not an ostentatious one — to what many consider a
great American.

As is my custom, I let Ethel Meyers — who did not
know she was in the Wilson House — roam the premises
under investigation at will, so that she could get her psy-
chic bearings. She walked to and fro, puzzled here, sure of

something or other there, without saying anything. I fol-
lowed her as close as I could. Finally, she walked up the
stairs and came down again in a hurry, pointing up
towards the top floors.

“What is it?” I asked Ethel.

"Someone up there,” she mumbled, and looked at

me.

“Let us go in here,” I suggested, as some visitors
were coming in through the front door. I did not want to
create a sensation with my investigation, as I had promised
to do the whole thing quietly and unobtrusively.

We stepped into a parlor to one side of the main
entrance. There I asked Ethel to take a seat in one of the
old chairs and try to give me her impressions of what she
had just experienced upstairs.

At this point, the medium’s control personality,

Albert, took over.

“So many detached things are coming in. I’m getting
the presence of an individual here. I haven’t had an impres-
sion like this before, it seems. Heed kindly the light which
we throw on this to you now. That is a hymn — ‘Lead,
Kindly Light.’”

"Is there anything in this house that is causing
disturbances?”

“There is restlessness, where those who remember
certain things. They are like fertile fields, to create over a
past that is not understood.”

“Who is the communicator, do you think?”

Albert replied: “I would say it is himself , in the pic-
ture on the mantelpiece.”

“What does he want you to do, or say?”

“I heard him distinctly say that the family rows
should not be made public. That those are thought levels
in the house. Angry voices sometimes rise. There are also
others who have things to say for themselves, beyond
that.”

“What is the row?”

“Let them speak for themselves.”

“What is there that he wants to do — is there any-
thing specific he would like us to know?”

“That the world going forward is more pleasant now
than going for me backwards, because true statements are
coming forth to make wider reach for man when he shakes
his hands across oceans with his neighbors. So now they are,
not before; they were in your back yard so to speak under
the shade of other trees.”

The "resident spirit” was now talking directly to us.

“I want to say, if you will give me audience while I
am here, that this is my pleasurable moment, to lift the
curtain to show you that the mortal enemy will become the
great friend, soon now. That my puny dream of yesteryear
has been gradually realized — the brotherhood of man. And
it becomes clearer, closer to the next century. It is here, for
us on our side. I see it more clearly from here. I am not

A Visit with Woodrow Wilson

117

sure about that designated time. But it is the brotherhood
of man, when the religious problem is lifted and the truth
is seen, and all men stand equal to other men, neighbors,
enemies.”

“Who are you referring to?”

“I come back again to tell you, that the hands that
will reach over the mighty ocean will soon clasp! Hands
lean forward to grasp them. My puny dream, my puny
ideal, takes form, and I look upon it and I am proud as a
small part but an integral part of that. It will bloom, the
period of gestation is about over, when this will come to
light. And I give great thanks to the withinness that I have
had so small a part in the integral whole. I tell you it is all a
part of the period of gestation before the dawn.”

"When will the dawn come?”

“Just before the turn of the century. Eighty-eight,

— nine.”

“And until then?”

“The period of gestation must go through its tortu-
ous ways. But it will dawn, it will dawn and not only on
this terra firma. It will dawn even over this city, and it will
be more a part of world -state as I saw it in my very close
view of the world. I was given this dream, and I have lived
by it.”

“Do you want us to do anything about your family,
or your friends? Tell them anything specifically?”

"That my soul lives on, and that it will return when
I see the turn of the century, and that I may look face to
face with that which I saw; that which was born within my
consciousness.”

"Whom should we give this message to?”

"The one living member of my family.”

"What is this member’s name?”

“Alice.”

“Anything else?”

“Just mundane moments of the lives of many fallible
mortals are inconsequential. Posterity has no need for it. It
has only the need for that which is coming — the bright
new dawn. We live to tell you this too. God rest the soul
of man; it will win. Science will win. Man’s soul will be
free to know its own importance. I have forgotten the
future; I look upon it all, here, as my integral part of the
world.”

"We will then go and have a look at that which was
your house. Thank you for telling me what you did.”

“God bless you — that is, the God that is your own
true God.”

“Thank you.”

“Hello — Albert.”

“Albert — is everything alright?”

“She’s fine. 1 will release her.”

“Thank you.”

"I guess you know with whom you were speaking.”

“Yes.”

CHAPTER FIVE; Famous Ghosts

“It was difficult for him to take over.”

Now Ethel came out of trance, none the worse for it.

I questioned her about the room we were in.

“Deals have been made in this room.”

“What kind of deals?”

"Political deals. There is a heavy-set man with side-
burns here.”

“Is he somebody of importance?”

”1 would say so. He has not too much hair up here.
Could have a beard.”

“What would he be doing here?”

“Well he seems to take over the room. To make a
deal, of some kind.”

"What kind of deal?”

"I don’t think he’s an American.”

“If you saw him would you recognize him?”

“I think I would, yes.”

I walked Ethel into the huge room with the fireplace,
pointing at various photographs lined up on top of it.
“Would this be the man?”

“Oh, that’s George isn’t it?”

“No. Could this be the man?”

“That’s Richard then.”

"No, it’s not Richard and it’s not George, but is it the
man that you saw?”

“He’s a little more gray here than he was when I — if
that’s the man. But it could be, yes.” She had just identi-
fied a world-famous statesman of World War I vintage.

We had now arrived on the third floor. A guide took
us around and pointed out the elevator and the iron stairs.
We walked down again and stopped at the grand piano.

“Ethel,” I asked, “do you think that this piano has
been used recently?”

"I would say it has. Ghostly, too. I think this is a
whirlpool right here. I don’t know whether Wilson was a
good pianist or not, but he has touched it.”

“Do you feel he is the one that is in the house?”

“I don’t think that he is haunting it, but present,

yes.”

* * *

I carefully checked into the history of the house, to
see whether some tragedy or other unusual happenings
might have produced a genuine ghost. There was nothing
in the background of the house to indicate that such an
event had ever taken place. How then was one to explain
the footsteps? What about the presence Mr. Vasquez had
felt? Since most of the phenomena occurred upstairs, one is
led to believe that they might be connected with some of
the servants or someone living at that level of the house.

At the period when the Wilsons had the house, the top
floor was certainly used as servants’ quarters. But the
Wilsons’ own bedroom and living quarters were also
upstairs, and the footsteps and the feeling of a presence
was not restricted to the topmost floor, it would appear.

118

Then, too, the expressions used by the entranced
medium indicate a person other than an ordinary servant.
There are several curious references in the transcript of the
tape taken while Ethel Johnson Meyers was in trance, and
afterwards when she spoke to me clairvoyantly. First of all,
the reference to a hymn, “Lead, Kindly Light,” would
indeed be in character for President Wilson. He was a son
of a Presbyterian minister, and certainly grew up under the
influence of his father as far as religion and expressions
were concerned. The references to “hands across the sea”
would be unimportant if Ethel Johnson Meyers had known
that she was in the Wilson House. However, she did not
connect the house with President Wilson at the time she
made the statement. The “puny dream” referred to of unit-
ing the world was certainly President Wilson’s uppermost
thought and desire. Perhaps Woodrow Wilson will be
known as the "Peace President” in future history books —
even though he was in office during a war, he went into
that war with a genuine and sincere desire to end all wars.
"To make the world safe for democracy” was one of his
best-known slogans. Thus, the expressions relayed by the
medium seem to me to be entirely in keeping with that
spirit.

True, the entity speaking through the medium did
not come forward and say, “I am Woodrow Wilson.” I
would not have expected it. That would have been ostenta-
tious and entirely out of character for the quiet, soft-
spoken gentleman Wilson was.

* * *

Is the Woodrow Wilson House haunted? Is the rest-
less spirit of the “Peace President” once more about,

because of what is transpiring in his beloved Washington?
Is he aroused by the absence of peace even in his own
homeland, let alone abroad? Truly, the conditions to cause
a restless entity to remain disturbed are all present.

Why is he trying to make contact with the physical
world at this time? The man who reported his experiences
to the Washington Post evidently is mediumistic. There are
very few people staying overnight in the house at the pre-
sent time. Very likely the restless spirit of President
Wilson — if indeed it is his spirit — found it convenient to
contact this man, despite his comparatively unimportant
position. But because he was psychic he presented a chan-
nel through which the President — if it was indeed he —
could express himself and reach the outer world, the world
that seems to be so much in need of peace today.

In a sense he has succeeded in his efforts. Because of
the experiences of Mr. Vasquez I became aware of the
hauntings at the Wilson House. My visit and the trance
condition into which I placed Ethel Johnson Meyers
resulted in a certain contact. There is every reason to
believe that this contact was the President himself.

As we left the house, I questioned Mrs. Meyers once
again about the man she had clairvoyantly seen walking
about the house. Without thinking, she described the tall
dignified figure of Woodrow Wilson. It may not constitute
absolute proof in terms of parapsychology, of course, but I
have the feeling that we did indeed make contact with the
restless and truly perturbed spirit of Woodrow Wilson,
and that this spirit somehow wants me to tell the world
how concerned he is about the state it is in.

» 11

Ring Around the White House

I DON’T THINK ANYONE has had more trouble getting
into the White House for a specific purpose than I except,
perhaps, some presidential aspirants such as Thomas E.
Dewey. Mr. Dewey’s purpose was a lot easier to explain
than mine, to begin with. How do you tell an official at the
presidential mansion that you would like to go to the Lin-
coln Bedroom to see whether Lincoln’s ghost is still there?
How do you make it plain that you’re not looking for sen-
sationalism, that you’re not bringing along a whole covey
of newspaper people, all of which can only lead to unfavor-
able publicity for the inhabitants of the White House,
whoever they may be at the time?

Naturally, this was the very difficult task to which I
had put myself several years ago. Originally when I was
collecting material for Window to the Past, I had envisioned
myself going to the Lincoln Bedroom and possibly the East

Room in the White House, hoping to verify and authenti-
cate apparitions that had occurred to a number of people in
those areas. But all my repeated requests for permission to
visit the White House in the company of a reputable psy-
chic were turned down. Even when I promised to submit
my findings and the writings based on those findings to
White House scrutiny prior to publication, I was told that
my request could not be granted.

The first reason given was that it was not convenient
because the President and his family were in. Then it was
not convenient because they would be away. Once I was
turned down because my visit could not be cleared suffi-
ciently with Security and anyway, that part of the White
House I wanted to visit was private.

I never gave up. Deep down I had the feeling that
the White House belongs to the people and is not a piece
of real estate on which even the presidential family may
hang out a sign, “No Trespassers.” I still think so. How-

Ring Around the White House

119

ever, I got nowhere as long as the Johnsons were in the
White House.

I tried again and again. A colonel stationed in the
White House, whom I met through Countess Gertrude
d’Amecourt, a mutual friend, tried hard to get permission
for me to come and investigate. He too failed.

Next, I received a letter, quite unexpectedly, from the
Reverend Thomas W. Dettman of Niagara, Wisconsin. He
knew a number of very prominent men in the federal gov-
ernment and offered to get me the permission I needed.
These men, he explained, had handled government investi-
gations for him before, and he was sure they would be
happy to be of assistance if he asked them. He was even
sure they would carry a lot of weight with the President.
They knew him well, he asserted. Mr. Dettman had been
associated with the Wisconsin Nixon for President Com-
mittee, and offered to help in any way he could.

After thanking Mr. Dettman for his offer, I heard
nothing further for a time. Then he wrote me again
explaining that he had as yet not been able to get me into
the Lincoln Bedroom, but that he was still working on it.
He had asked the help of Representative John Byrnes of
Wisconsin in the matter, and I would hear further about it.
Then Mr. Dettman informed me that he had managed to
arrange for me to be given “a special tour” of the White
House, and, to the best of his knowledge, that included the
East Room. He then asked that I contact William E. Tim-
mons, Assistant to the President, for details.

I was, of course, elated. Imagine, a special tour of the
White House! What could be better than that?

With his letter, Mr. Dettman had included a letter
from Senator William Proxmire of Wisconsin, in which the
Senator noted that I would not be able to do research in
the Lincoln Bedroom, but that I would be given the special
tour of the White House.

I hurriedly wrote a thank-you note to Mr. Dettman,
and started to make plans to bring a medium to Washing-
ton with me. A few days later Mr. Dettman wrote me
again.

He had received a call from the White House con-
cerning the tour. He could, he explained, in no way guar-
antee what kind of tour I would be given, nor what I would
see. He had done everything possible to help me and
hoped I would not be disappointed.

Whether my own sixth sense was working or not, 1
suddenly thought I had better look into the nature of that
“special tour” myself. I wrote and asked whether I would
be permitted to spend half an hour in the East Room, since
the Lincoln Bedroom had been denied me. Back came a
letter dated May 14, 1970, on White House stationery, and
signed by John S. Davies, Special Assistant to the Presi-
dent, Office White House Visitors.

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

Senator Proxmire’s recent letter to Mr. William Tim-
mons concerning your most recent request to visit the
White House has been referred to me, as this office is
responsible for White House visitors. Unfortunately, as
we have pointed out, we are unable to arrange for you to
visit the Lincoln Bedroom, as this room is in the Presi-
dent’s personal residence area, which is not open to visi-
tors. If you wish to arrange an early-morning special
tour, I suggest you contact Senator Proxmire 's office.

You are also most welcome to come to the White House
any time during the regular visiting hours.

I decided to telephone Mr. Davies since the day of
my planned visit was close at hand. It was only then that I
realized what that famous “special tour” really was. It
meant that I, along with who else might be present at the
time at the White House gates, would be permitted to walk
through the part of the White House open to all visitors. I
couldn’t bring a tape recorder. I could not sit down or tarry
along the way. I had to follow along with the group,
glance up at whatever might be interesting, and be on my
way again like a good little citizen. What, then, was so spe-
cial about that tour, I inquired? Nothing really, I was told,
but that is what it is known as. It is called a special tour
because you have to have the request of either a Senator or
a Representative from your home state.

I canceled my visit and dismissed the medium. But
my reading public is large, and other offers to help me
came my way.

Debbie Fitz is a teenage college student who wanted
me to lecture at her school. In return, she offered to get me
into the White House, or at least try to. I smiled at her
courage, but told her to go right ahead and try. She wrote a
letter to Miss Nixon, whom she thought would be favor-
able to her request, being of the same age group and all
that. After explaining her own interest in ESP research and
the importance this field has in this day and age for the
young, she went on to explain who I was and that I had
previously been denied admittance to the White House
areas I wished to do research in. She wrote:

All he wants to do is take a psychic medium into the
room and scientifically record any phenomena that may
exist. This will not involve staying overnight; it can be
done during the day at your convenience. All investiga-
tions are conducted in a scientific manner and are fully
documented. It is well known that Lincoln himself was
psychic and held seances in the White House. Wouldn’t
you, as a student of White House history and a member
of the young, open-minded generation, like to find out
whether or not this room is really haunted? This will
also provide an opportunity for young people who are
interested in other things besides riots and demonstra-
tions to benefit intellectually from Mr. Holzer’s efforts.

Debbie Fitz never received a reply or an acknowledg-
ment. I, of course, never heard about the matter again.

Try as I would, I was rebuffed. Just the same, interest
in the haunted aspects of the nation’s Executive Mansion

120

remains at a high level. Several Washington newspapers
carried stories featuring some of the psychic occurrences
inside the White House, and whenever I appeared
on Washington television, I was invariably asked about the
ghosts at the White House. Perhaps the best account of the
psychic state of affairs at number 1600 Pennsylvania
Avenue was written by the Washington Post reporter,
Jacqueline Lawrence.

“The most troubled spirit of 1600 Pennsylvania
Avenue is Abraham Lincoln, who during his own lifetime
claimed to receive regular visits from his two dead sons,

Pat and Willie.” After reporting the well-known premoni-
tory dream in which Lincoln saw himself dead in a casket
in the East Room, Miss Lawrence goes on to report that
Mrs. Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s servant, Mary Evan, had
reported seeing Lincoln on the bed in the northwest bed-
room, pulling on his boots. “Other servants said they had
seen him lying quietly in his bed, and still others vowed
that he periodically stood at the oval window over the main
entrance of the White House. Mrs. Roosevelt herself never
saw Lincoln, but she did admit that when working late she
frequently felt a ghostly sort of presence.”

Amongst the visitors to the White House who had
experienced psychic occurrences was the late Queen Wil-
helmina of the Netherlands. Asleep in the Queen’s Bed-
room, she heard someone knock at her door, got up,
opened it, and saw the ghost of President Lincoln standing
there looking at her. She fainted, and by the time she had
come to he was gone.

“According to the legend, the spirit of Lincoln is
especially troubled and restless on the eve of national
calamities such as war.” Under the circumstances, one
should expect the shade of President Lincoln to be in
around-the-clock attendance these days and nights.

* * *

But Lincoln is not the only ghost at the White
House. Household members of President Taft have
observed the ghost of Abigail Adams walking right through
the closed doors of the East Room with her arms out-
stretched. And who knows what other specters reside in
these ancient and troubled walls?

That all is not known about the White House may
be seen from a dispatch of the New York Daily News dated
November 25, 1969, concerning two new rooms unearthed
at the White House. “Two hitherto unknown rooms,

believed to date back to the time of Thomas Jefferson,
have been unearthed in the White House a few yards away
from the presidential swimming pool. The discovery was
made as excavation continued on the larger work area for
the White House press corps. The subterranean rooms,
which White House curator James Ketchum described as
storage or coal bins, were believed among the earliest built
at the White House. Filled with dirt, they contained bro-
ken artifacts believed to date back to President Lincoln’s
administration.”

When I discussed my difficulties in receiving permis-
sion for a White House investigation with prominent peo-
ple in Washington, it was suggested to me that I turn my
attention to Ford’s Theatre, or the Parker House — both
places associated with the death of President Lincoln. I
have not done so, for the simple reason that in my estima-
tion the ghost of Lincoln is nowhere else to be found but
where it mattered to him: in the White House. If there is a
transitory impression left behind at Ford’s Theatre, where
he was shot, or the Parker House, where he eventually died
some hours later, it would only be an imprint from the
past. I am sure that the surviving personality of President
Lincoln is to a degree attached to the White House
because of unfinished business. I do not think that this is
unfinished only of his own time. So much of it has never
been finished to this very day, nor is the present adminis-
tration in any way finishing it. To the contrary. If there
ever was any reason for Lincoln to be disturbed, it is now.
The Emancipation Proclamation, for which he stood and
which was in a way the rebirth of our country, is still only
in part reality. Lincoln's desire for peace is hardly met in
these troubled times. I am sure that the disturbances at the
White House have never ceased. Only a couple of years
ago, Lynda, one of the Johnson daughters, heard someone
knock at her door, opened it, and found no one outside.
Telephone calls have been put through to members of the
presidential family, and there has been no one on the other
end of the line. Moreover, on investigating, it was found
that the White House operators had not rung the particular
extension telephones.

It is very difficult to dismiss such occurrences as
products of imagination, coincidence, or “settling of an old
house.” Everyone except a moron knows the difference
between human footsteps caused by feet encased with boots
or shoes, and the normal noises of an old house settling
slowly and a little at a time on its foundation.

Ring Around the White House

121

» 12

The Ill-fated Kennedys:

From Visions to Ghosts

“When are you going to go down to Dallas and find out
about President Kennedy?” the pleasant visitor inquired.
He was a schoolteacher who had come to me to seek advice
on how to start a course in parapsychology in his part of
the country.

The question about President Kennedy was hardly
new. I had been asked the same question in various forms
ever since the assassination of John F. Kennedy, as if I and
my psychic helpers had the duty to use our combined tal-
ents to find out what really happened at the School Book
Depository in Dallas. I suppose similar conditions pre-
vailed after the death of Abraham Lincoln. People’s curios-
ity had been aroused, and with so many unconfirmed
rumors making the rounds the matter of a President’s sud-
den death does become a major topic of conversation and
inquiry.

I wasn’t there when Lincoln was shot; I was around
when President Kennedy was murdered. Thus I am in a
fairly good position to trace the public interest with the
assassination from the very start.

I assured my visitor that so far I had no plans to go
down to Dallas with a medium and find out what “really”
happened. I have said so on television many times. When I
was reminded that the Abraham Lincoln murder also left
some unanswered questions and that I had indeed investi-
gated it and come up with startlingly new results in my
book Window to the Past, I rejoined that there was one
basic difference between the Kennedy death and the assas-
sination of President Lincoln: Lincoln’s ghost has been
seen repeatedly by reliable witnesses in the White House;
so far I have not received any reliable reports of ghostly
sightings concerning the late President Kennedy. In my
opinion, this meant that the restlessness that caused Lin-
coln to remain in what used to be his working world has
not caused John F. Kennedy to do likewise.

But I am not a hundred per cent sure any longer.
Having learned how difficult it is to get information about
such matters in Washington, or to gain admission to the
White House as anything but a casual tourist — or, of
course, on official business — I am also convinced that
much may be suppressed or simply disregarded by those to
whom experiences have happened simply because we live
in a time when psychic phenomena can still embarrass
those to whom they occur, especially if they have a position
of importance.

But even if John Fitzgerald Kennedy is not walking
the corridors of the White House at night, bemoaning his
untimely demise or trying to right the many wrongs that

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

have happened in this country since he left us, he is appar-
ently doing something far better. He communicates, under
special conditions and with special people. He is far from
“dead and gone,” if I am to believe those to whom these
experiences have come. Naturally, one must sift the fantasy
from the real thing — even more so when we are dealing
with a famous person. I have done so, and I have looked
very closely at the record of people who have reported to
me psychic experiences dealing with the Kennedy family. I
have eliminated a number of such reports simply because I
could not find myself wholly convinced that the one who
reported it was entirely balanced. I have also eliminated
many other reports, not because I had doubts about the
emotional stability of those who had made the reports, but
because the reports were far too general and vague to be
evidential even in the broadest sense. Material that was
unsupported by witnesses, or material that was presented
after the fact, was of course disregarded.

With all that in mind, I have come to the conclusion
that the Kennedy destiny was something that could not
have been avoided whether or not one accepts the old Irish
Kennedy curse as factual.

Even the ghostly Kennedys are part and parcel of
American life at the present. Why they must pay so high a
price in suffering, I cannot guess. But it is true that the
Irish forebears of the American Kennedys have also suf-
fered an unusually high percentage of violent deaths over
the years, mainly on the male side of the family. There is,
of course, the tradition that way back in the Middle Ages a
Kennedy was cursed for having incurred the wrath of some
private local enemy. As a result of the curse, he and all his
male descendants were to die violently one by one. To dis-
miss curses as fantasies, or at the very best workable only
because of fear symptoms, would not be accurate. I had
great doubts the effectiveness of curses until I came across
several cases that allowed of no other explanation. In par-
ticular, I refer back to the case of the Wurmbrand curse
reported by me in Ghosts of the Golden West. In that case
the last male descendant of an illustrious family died under
mysterious circumstances quite unexpectedly even while
under the care of doctors in a hospital. Thus, if the
Kennedy curse is operative, nothing much can be done
about it.

Perhaps I should briefly explain the distinction
between ghosts and spirits here, since so much of the
Kennedy material is of the latter kind rather than the for-
mer. Ghosts are generally tied to houses or definite places
where their physical bodies died tragically, or at least in a
state of unhappiness. They are unable to leave the
premises, so to speak, and can only repeat the pattern of
their final moments, and are for all practical purposes not
fully cognizant of their true state. They can be compared
with psychotics in the physical state, and must first be
freed from their own self-imposed delusions to be able to
answer, if possible through a trance medium, or to leave
and become free spirits out in what Dr. Joseph Rhine of

122

Duke University has called “the world of the mind,” and
which I generally refer to as the non-physical world.

Spirits, on the other hand, are really people, like you
and me, who have left the physical body but are very much
alive in a thinner, etheric body, with which they are able to
function pretty much the same as they did in the physical
body, except that they are now no longer weighed down by
physical objects, distances, time, and space. The majority
of those who die become free spirits, and only a tiny frac-
tion are unable to proceed to the next stage but must
remain behind because of emotional difficulties. Those who
have gone on are not necessarily gone forever, but to the
contrary they are able and frequently anxious to keep a
hand in situations they have left unfinished on the earth
plane. Death by violence or under tragic conditions does
not necessarily create a ghost. Some such conditions may
indeed create the ghost syndrome, but many others do not.

I should think that President Kennedy is in the latter
group — that is to say, a free spirit capable of continuing an
interest in the world he left behind. Why this is so, I will
show in the next pages.

* * *

The R. Lumber Company is a prosperous firm spe-
cializing in the manufacture and wholesale of lumber. It is
located in Georgia and the owners, Mr. and Mrs. Bernard
R., are respected citizens in their community. It was in
April of 1970 that Mrs. R. contacted me. "I have just fin-
ished reading your book, Life After Death, and could not
resist your invitation to share a strange experience with
you,” she explained, “hoping that you can give me some
opinion regarding its authenticity.

"I have not had an opportunity to discuss what hap-
pened with anyone who is in any way psychic or clairvoy-
ant. I have never tried to contact anyone close to the
Kennedy s about this, as of course I know they must have
received thousands of letters. Many times I feel a little
guilty about not even trying to contact Mrs. Kennedy and
the children, if indeed it could have been a genuine last
message from the President. It strikes me as odd that we
might have received it or imagined we received it. We were
never fans of the Kennedys, and although we were cer-
tainly sympathetic to the loss of our President, we were not
as emotionally upset as many of our friends were who were
ardent admirers.

"I am in no way psychic, nor have I ever had any
supernatural experience before. I am a young homemaker
and businesswoman, and cannot offer any possible explana-
tion for what happened.

“On Sunday night, November 24, 1963, following
John F. Kennedy’s assassination, my family and I were at
home watching on television the procession going through
the Capitol paying their last respects. I was feeling very
depressed, especially since that afternoon Lee Oswald had
also been killed and I felt we would never know the full
story of the assassination. For some strange reason, I sud-

denly thought of the Ouija board, although I have never
taken the answers seriously and certainly have never before
consulted it about anything of importance. I asked my
teenage daughter to work the board with me, and we went
into another room. I had never tried to ‘communicate with
the dead.’ I don’t know why I had the courage to ask the
questions I did on that night, but somehow, I felt com-
pelled to go on:

Question: Will our country be in danger without Kennedy?
Answer: Strong with, weak without Kennedy, plot — stop.
Question: Will Ruby tell why President was killed?

Answer: Ruby does not know, only Oswald and I know.
Sorry.

Question: Will we ever know why Kennedy was killed?
Answer: Underground and Oswald know, Ruby does not
know, gangland leader caught in plot.

Question: Who is gangland leader?

Answer: Can’t tell now.

Question: Why did Oswald hate President?

Answer: Negroes, civil rights bill.

Question: Flave Oswald’s and Kennedy's spirits met?
Answer: Yes. No hard feelings in Fleaven.

Question: Are you in contact with Kennedy?

Answer: Yes.

Question: Does Kennedy have a message he would send
through us?

Answer: Yes, yes, yes, tell J., C., and J.J. about this.

Thanks, JFK.

Question: Can Kennedy give us some nickname to authen-
ticate this?

Answer: Only nickname ‘John John.’

Question: Do you really want us to contact someone?
Answer: Yes, but wait ‘til after my funeral.

Question: Flow can we be sure Jackie will see our letter?
Answer: Write personal, not sympathy business.

Question: Is there something personal you could tell us to
confirm this message?

Answer: Prying public knows all.

Question: Just one nickname you could give us?

Answer: J.J. (John John) likes to swim lots, called ‘Daddy’s
little swimmer boy.’ Does that help? JFK.

Question: Anything else?

Answer: J.J. likes to play secret game and bunny.

Question: What was your Navy Serial number?

The Ill-fated Kennedys:
From Visions to Ghosts

123

Answer: 109 P.T. (jg) Skipper — 5905. [seemed confused]
Question: Can we contact you again?

Answer: You, JFK, not JFK you.

Question: Give us address of your new home.

Answer: Snake Mountain Road.

Question: Will Mrs. Kennedy believe this, does she believe
in the supernatural?

Answer: Some — tired — that’s all tonight.

"At this point the planchette slid off the bottom of
the board marked ‘Good-by’ and we attempted no further
questions that night.

“The board at all times answered our questions
swiftly and deliberately, without hesitation. It moved so
rapidly, in fact, that my daughter and I could not keep up
with the message as it came. We called out the letters to my
eleven -year -old daughter who wrote them down, and we
had to unscramble the words after we had received the
entire message. We had no intention of trying to communi-
cate directly with President Kennedy. I cannot tell you how
frightened I was when I asked if there was a message he
would send and the message came signed ‘JFK.’

“For several days after, I could not believe the mes-
sage was genuine. I have written Mrs. Kennedy several let-
ters trying to explain what happened, but have never had
the courage to mail them.

“None of the answers obtained are sensational, most
are things we could have known or guessed. The answers
given about ‘John John’ and ‘secret game’ and ‘bunny’
were in a magazine which my children had read and 1 had
not. However, the answer about John John being called
‘Daddy’s little swimmer boy’ is something none of us have
ever heard or read. I have researched numerous articles
written about the Kennedys during the last two years and
have not found any reference to this. I could not persuade
my daughter to touch the board again for days. We tried
several times in December 1963, but were unsuccessful.
One night, just before Christmas, a friend of mine per-
suaded my daughter to work the board with her. Perhaps
the most surprising message came at this time, and it was
also the last one we ever received. We are all Protestant
and the message was inconsistent with our religious beliefs.
When they asked if there was a message from President
Kennedy, the planchette spelled out immediately “Thanks
for your prayers while I was in Purgatory, JFK.”‘

* * *

I have said many times in print and.on television that
I take a dim view of Ouija boards in general. Most of the
material obtained from the use of this instrument merely
reflects the unconscious of one or both sitters. Occasion-
ally, however, Ouija boards have been able to tap the psy-

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

chic levels of a person and come up with the same kind of
veridical material a clairvoyant person might come up with.
Thus, to dismiss the experiences of Mrs. R. merely because
the material was obtained through a Ouija board would not
be fair. Taking into account the circumstances, the back-
ground of the operators, and their seeming reluctance to
seek out such channels of communication, I must dismiss
ulterior motives such as publicity-seeking reasons or idle
curiosity as being the causative factor in the event. On the
other hand, having just watched a television program deal-
ing with the demise of President Kennedy, the power of
suggestion might have come into play. Had the material
obtained through the Ouija board been more specific to a
greater extent, perhaps I would not have to hesitate to label
this a genuine experience. While there is nothing in the
report that indicates fraud — either conscious or
unconscious — there is nothing startling in the information
given. Surely, if the message had come from Kennedy, or if
Kennedy himself had been on the other end of the psychic
line, there would have been certain pieces of information
that would have been known only to him and that could
yet be checked out in a way that was accessible. Surely,
Kennedy would have realized how difficult it might have
been for an ordinary homemaker to contact his wife. Thus,
it seems to me that some other form of proof of identity
would have been furnished. This, however, is really only
speculation. Despite the sincerity of those reporting the
incident, I feel that there is reasonable doubt as to the gen-
uineness of the communication.

* * *

By far the majority of communications regarding
President Kennedy relate to his death and are in the nature
of premonitions, dreams, visions, and other warnings prior
to or simultaneous with the event itself. The number of
such experiences indicates that the event itself must have
been felt ahead of its realization, indicating that some sort
of law was in operation that could not be altered, even if
President Kennedy could have been warned. As a matter of
fact, I am sure that he was given a number of warnings,
and that he chose to disregard them. I don’t see how he
could have done otherwise — both because he was the Presi-
dent and out of a fine sense of destiny that is part and par-
cel of the Kennedy make-up. Certainly Jeane Dixon was in
a position to warn the President several times prior to the
assassination. Others, less well connected in Washington,
might have written letters that never got through to the
President. Certainly one cannot explain these things away
merely by saying that a public figure is always in danger of
assassination, or that Kennedy had incurred the wrath of
many people in this country and abroad. This simply does-
n’t conform to the facts. Premonitions have frequently been
very precise, indicating in great detail the manner, time,
and nature of the assassination. If it were merely a matter
of vaguely foretelling the sudden death of the President,
then of course one could say that this comes from a study

124

of the situation or from a general feeling about the times in
which we live. But this is not so. Many of the startling
predictions couldn’t have been made by anyone, unless
they themselves were in on the planning of the
assassination.

Mrs. Rose LaPorta lives in suburban Cleveland,

Ohio. Over the years she has developed her ESP faculties —
partially in the dream state and partially while awake. Some
of her premonitory experiences are so detailed that they
cannot be explained on the basis of coincidence, if there is
such a thing, or in any other rational terms. For instance,
on May 10, 1963, she dreamed she had eaten something
with glass in it. She could even feel it in her mouth, so
vividly that she began to spit it out and woke up. On
October 4 of the same year, after she had forgotten the
peculiar dream, she happened to be eating a cookie. There
was some glass in it, and her dream became reality in every
detail. Fortunately, she had told several witnesses of her
original dream, so she was able to prove this to herself on
the record.

At her place of work there is a superintendent named
Smith, who has offices in another city. There never was
any close contact with that man, so it was rather startling
to Mrs. LaPorta to hear a voice in her sleep telling her,

"Mr. Smith died at home on Monday.” Shocked by this
message, she discussed it with her coworkers. That was on
May 18, 1968. On October 8 of the same year, an
announcement was made at the company to the effect that
"Mr. Smith died at home on Monday, October 7.”

Mrs. LaPorta’s ability to tune in on future events
reached a national subject on November 17, 1963. She
dreamed she was at the White Flouse in Washington on a
dark, rainy day. There were beds set up in each of the por-
ticoes. She found herself, in the dream, moving from one
bed to another, because she wanted to shelter herself from
the rain. There was much confusion going on and many
men were running around in all directions. They seemed to
have guns in their hands and pockets. Finally, Mrs.

LaPorta, in the dream, asked someone what was happen-
ing, and they told her they were Secret Service men. She
was impressed with the terrible confusion and atmosphere
of tragedy when she awoke from her dream. That was five
days before the assassination happened on November 22,
1963. The dream is somewhat reminiscent of the famed
Abraham Lincoln dream, in which he himself saw his own
body on the catafalque in the East Room, and asked who
was dead in the White House. I reported on that dream in
Window to the Past.

* * *

Marie Howe is a Maryland housewife, fifty-two years
old, and only slightly psychic. The night before the assassi-
nation she had a dream in which she saw two brides with
the features of men. Upon awakening she spoke of her
dream to her husband and children, and interpreted it that
someone was going to die very soon. She thought that two

persons would die close together. The next day, Kennedy
and Oswald turned into the "brides of death” she had seen
in her dream.

* * *

Bertha Zelkin lives in Los Angeles. The morning of
the assassination she suddenly found herself saying, “What
would we do if President Kennedy were to die?” That
afternoon the event took place.

* * *

Marion Confalonieri, a forty-one-year-old housewife
and a native of Chicago, has worked as a secretary, and
lives with her husband, a draftsman, and two daughters in
a comfortable home in California. Over the years she has
had many psychic experiences, ranging from deja vu feel-
ings to psychic dreams. On Friday, November 22, the
assassination took place and Oswald was captured the same
day. The following night, Saturday, November 23, Mrs.
Confalonieri went to bed exhausted and in tears from all
the commotion. Some time during the night she dreamed
that she saw a group of men, perhaps a dozen, dressed in
suits and some with hats. She seemed to be floating a little
above them, looking down on the scene, and she noticed
that they were standing very close in a group. Then she
heard a voice say, “Ruby did it.” The next morning she
gave the dream no particular thought. The name Ruby
meant absolutely nothing to her nor, for that matter, to
anyone else in the country at that point. It wasn’t until she
turned her radio on and heard the announcement that
Oswald had been shot by a man named Ruby that she
realized she had had a preview of things to come several
hours before the event itself had taken place.

* * *

Another one who tuned in on the future a little ahead
of reality was the famed British author, Pendragon, whose
real name was L. T. Ackerman. In October 1963, he
wrote, “I wouldn’t rule out the possibility of attempted
assassination or worse if caught off guard.” He wrote to
President Kennedy urging him that his guard be strength-
ened, especially when appearing in public.

* * *

Dr. Robert G. is a dentist who makes his home in
Rhode Island. He has had psychic experiences all his life,
some of which I have described elsewhere. At the time
when Oswald was caught by the authorities, the doctor’s
wife wondered out loud what would happen to the man.
Without thinking what he was saying, Dr. G. replied, “He
will be shot in the police station.” The words just popped
out of his mouth. There was nothing to indicate even a
remote possibility of such a course of action.

The Ill-fated Kennedys:

From Visions to Ghosts

125

He also had a premonition that Robert Kennedy
would be shot, but he thought that the Senator would live
on with impaired faculties. We know, of course, that Sena-
tor Kennedy died. Nevertheless, as most of us will remem-
ber, for a time after the announcement of the shooting
there was hope that the Senator would indeed continue to
live, although with impaired faculties. Not only did the
doctors think that might be possible, but announcements
were made to that effect. Thus, it is entirely feasible that
Dr. G. tuned in not only on the event itself but also on the
thoughts and developments that were part of the event.

As yet we know very little about the mechanics of
premonitions, and it is entirely possible that some psychics
cannot fine-tune their inner instruments beyond a general
pickup of future material. This seems to relate to the
inability of most mediums to pinpoint exact time in their
predictions.

* * *

Cecilia Fawn Nichols is a writer who lives in
Twenty-nine Palms, California. All her life she has had
premonitions that have come true and has accepted the
psychic in her life as a perfectly natural element. She had
been rooting for John F. Kennedy to be elected President
because she felt that his Catholic religion had made him a
kind of underdog. When he finally did get the nod, Miss
Nichols found herself far from jubilant. As if something
foreboding were preying heavily on her mind, she received
the news of his election glumly and with a feeling of disas-
ter. At the time she could not explain to herself why, but
the thought that the young man who had just been elected
was condemned to death entered her mind. “When the
unexpected passes through my mind, I know I can expect
it,” she explained. “I generally do not know just how or
when or what. In this case I felt some idiot was going to
kill him because of his religion. I expected the assassination
much sooner. Possibly because of domestic problems, I
wasn’t expecting it when it did happen.”

On Sunday morning, November 24, she was starting
breakfast. Her television set was tuned to Channel 2, and
she decided to switch to Channel 7 because that station
had been broadcasting the scene directly from Dallas. The
announcer was saying that any moment now Oswald would
be brought out of jail to be taken away from Dallas. The
camera showed the grim faces of the crowd. Miss Nichols
took one look at the scene and turned to her mother.
“Mama, come in the living room. Oswald is going to be
killed in a few minutes, and I don’t want to miss seeing
it.”

There was nothing to indicate such a course of
action, of course, but the words just came out of her mouth
as if motivated by some outside force. A moment later, the
feared event materialized. Along with the gunshot, how-
ever, she distinctly heard words said that she was never

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

again to hear on any rerun of the televised action. The
words were spoken just as Ruby lifted his arm to shoot. As
he began pressing the trigger, the words and the gunshot
came close together. Afterwards Miss Nichols listened care-
fully to many of the reruns but never managed to hear the
words again. None of the commentators mentioned them.
No account of the killing mentions them. And yet Miss
Nichols clearly heard Ruby make a statement even as he
was shooting Oswald down.

The fact that she alone heard the words spoken by
Ruby bothered Miss Nichols. In 1968 she was with a
group of friends discussing the Oswald killing, and again
she reported what she had heard that time on television.
There was a woman in that group who nodded her head.
She too had heard the same words. It came as a great relief
to Miss Nichols to know that she was not alone in her per-
ception. The words Ruby spoke as he was shooting Oswald
were words of anger: “Take this, you son of a bitch!”

This kind of psychic experience is far closer to truth-
ful tuning in on events as they transpire, or just as they are
formulating themselves, than some of the more complicated
interpretations of events after they have happened.

* * *

Two Cincinnati amateur mediums by the names of
Dorothy Barrett and Virginia Hill, who have given out pre-
dictions of things to come to the newspapers from time to
time, also made some announcements concerning the
Kennedy assassination. I have met the two ladies at the
home of the John Straders in Cincinnati, at which time
they seemed to be imitating the Edgar Cayce readings in
that they pinpointed certain areas of the body subject to ill-
ness. Again, I met Virginia Hill recently and was con-
fronted with what she believes is the personality of Edgar
Cayce, the famous seer of Virginia Beach. Speaking
through her, I questioned the alleged Edgar Cayce entity
and took notes, which I then asked Cayce’s son, Hugh
Lynn Cayce, to examine for validity. Regrettably, most of
the answers proved to be incorrect, thus making the iden-
tity of Edgar Cayce highly improbable. Nevertheless, Vir-
ginia Hill is psychic and some of her predictions have come
true.

On December 4, 1967, the Cincinnati Inquirer pub-
lished many of her predictions for the following year. One
of the more startling statements is that there were sixteen
people involved in the Kennedy assassination, according to
Virginia’s spirit guide, and that the leader was a woman.
Oswald, it is claimed, did not kill the President, but a
policeman (now dead) did.

In this connection it is interesting to note that Sher-
man Skolnick, a researcher, filed suit in April of 1970
against the National Archives and Records Services to
release certain documents concerning the Kennedy assassi-
nation— in particular, Skolnick claimed that there had been
a prior Chicago assassination plot in which Oswald and an
accomplice by the name of Thomas Arthur Vallee and

126

three or four other men had been involved. Their plan to
kill the President at a ball game had to be abandoned when
Vallee was picked up on a minor traffic violation the day
before the game. Skolnick, according to Time magazine’s
article, April 20, 1970, firmly believes that Oswald and
Vallee and several others were linked together in the assas-
sination plot.

* * *

When it comes to the assassination of Senator Robert
Kennedy, the picture is somewhat different. To begin with,
very few people thought that Robert Kennedy was in mor-
tal danger, while John F. Kennedy, as President, was
always exposed to political anger — as are all Presidents.
The Senator did not seem to be in quite so powerful a
position. True, he had his enemies, as have all politicians.
But the murder by Sirhan Sirhan came as much more of a
surprise than the assassination of his brother. It is thus sur-
prising that so much premonitory material exists concern-
ing Robert Kennedy as well. In a way, of course, this
material is even more evidential because of the lesser likeli-
hood of such an event transpiring.

Mrs. Elaine Jones lives in San Francisco. Her husband
is a retired businessman; her brother-in-law headed
the publishing firm of Harper & Row; she is not given to
hallucinations. I have reported some of her psychic experi-
ences elsewhere. Shortly before the assassination of Robert
Kennedy she had a vision of the White House front. At
first she saw it as it was and is, and then suddenly the
entire front seemed to crumble before her eyes. To her this
meant death of someone connected with the White House.
A short time later, the assassination of the Senator took
place.

* * *

Months before the event, famed Washington seer
Jeane Dixon was speaking at the Hotel Ambassador in Los
Angeles. She said that Robert Kennedy would be the vic-
tim of a "tragedy right here in this hotel.” The Senator was
assassinated there eight months later.

* * *

A young Californian by the name of Lorraine
Caswell had a dream the night before the assassination of
Senator Kennedy. In her dream she saw the actual assassi-
nation as it later happened. The next morning, she
reported her nightmare to her roommate, who had served
as witness on previous occasions of psychic premonition.

* * *

Ellen Roberts works as a secretary and part-time vol-
unteer for political causes she supports. During the cam-
paign of Senator Robert Kennedy she spent some time at
headquarters volunteering her services. Miss Roberts is a
member of the Reverend Zenor’s Hollywood Spiritualist
Temple. Reverend Zenor, while in trance, speaks with the

voice of Agasha, a higher teacher, who is also able to fore-
tell events in the future. On one such occasion, long before
the assassination of John F. Kennedy, Agasha — through
Reverend Zenor — had said, “There will be not one assassi-
nation, but two. He will also be quite young. Victory will
be almost within his grasp, but he will die just before he
assumes the office, if it cannot be prevented.”

The night of the murder, Ellen Roberts fell asleep
early. She awakened with a scene of Robert Kennedy and
President Kennedy talking. John F. Kennedy was putting
his arm around his brother’s shoulders and she heard him
say, “Well, Bobby, you made it — the hard way.” With a
rueful smile they walked away. Miss Roberts took this to
mean the discomfort that candidate Robert Kennedy had
endured during the campaign — the rock -throwing, the
insults, name-callings, and his hands had actually become
swollen as he was being pulled. Never once did she accept
it as anything more sinister. The following day she realized
what her vision had meant.

* * *

A curious thing happened to Mrs. Lewis H. Mac-
Kibbel. She and her ten-year-old granddaughter were
watching television the evening of June 4, 1968. Suddenly
the little girl jumped up, clasped her hands to her chest,
and in a shocked state announced, "Robert Kennedy has
been shot. Shot down, Mama.” Her sisters and mother
teased her about it, saying that such an event would have
been mentioned on the news if it were true. After a while
the subject was dropped. The following morning, June 5,
when the family radio was turned on, word of the shooting
came. Startled, the family turned to the little girl, who
could only nod and say, “Yes I know. I knew it last night.”

* * *

Mrs. Dawn Chorley lives in central Ohio. A native of
England, she spent many years with her husband in South
Africa, and has had psychic experiences at various times in
her life. During the 1968 election campaign she and her
husband, Colin Chorley, had been working for Eugene
McCarthy, but when Robert Kennedy won the primary in
New Hampshire she was very pleased with that too. The
night of the election, she stayed up late. She was very
keyed up and thought she would not be able to sleep
because of the excitement, but contrary to her expectations
she fell immediately into a very deep sleep around mid-
night. That night she had a curious dream.

"I was standing in the central downstairs’ room of
my house. I was aware of a strange atmosphere around me
and felt very lonely. Suddenly I felt a pain in the left side
of my head, toward the back. The inside of my mouth
started to crumble and blood started gushing out of my
mouth. I tried to get to the telephone, but my arms and

The Ill-fated Kennedys:

From Visions to Ghosts

127

legs would not respond to my will; everything was disori-
ented. Somehow I managed to get to the telephone and
pick up the receiver. With tremendous difficulty I dialed
for the operator, and I could hear a voice asking whether I
needed help. I tried to say, ‘Get a doctor,’ but the words
came out horribly slurred. Then came the realization I was
dying and I said, 'Oh my God, I am dying,’ and sank into
oblivion. I was shouting so loud I awoke my husband, who
is a heavy sleeper. Shaking off the dream, I still felt terribly
depressed. My husband, Colin, noticed the time. Allowing
for time changes, it was the exact minute Robert Kennedy
was shot.”

* * *

Jill Taggart of North Hollywood, California, has been
working with me as a developing medium for several years
now. By profession a writer and model, she has been her
own worst critic, and in her report avoids anything that
cannot be substantiated. On May 14, 1968, she had meant
to go to a rally in honor of Senator Robert Kennedy in Van
Nuys, California. Since the parade was only three blocks
from her house, it was an easy thing for her to walk over.
But early in the evening she had resolved not to go. To
begin with, she was not fond of the Senator, and she hated
large crowds, but more than anything she had a bad feeling
that something would happen to the Senator while he was
in his car. On the news that evening she heard that the
Senator had been struck in the temple by a flying object
and had fallen to his knees in the car. The news also
reported that he was all right. Jill, however, felt that the
injury was more serious than announced and that the Sen-
ator’s reasoning faculties would be impaired henceforth.
“It’s possible that it could threaten his life,” she reported.
"I know that temples are tricky things.” When I spoke to
her further, pressing for details, she indicated that she had
then felt disaster for Robert Kennedy, but her logical mind
refused to enlarge upon the comparatively small injury the
candidate had suffered. A short time later, of course, the
Senator was dead — not from a stone thrown at him but
from a murderer’s bullet. Jill Taggart had somehow tuned
in on both events simultaneously.

* * *

Seventeen-year-old Debbie Gaurlay, a high school
student who also works at training horses, has had ESP
experiences for several years. Two days prior to the assassi-
nation of Robert Kennedy she remarked to a friend by the
name of Debbie Corso that the Senator would be shot very
shortly. At that time there was no logical reason to assume
an attempt upon the Senator's life.

* * *

John Londren is a machine fitter, twenty-eight years
old, who lives with his family in Hartford, Connecticut.

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

Frequently he has had dreams of events that have later
transpired. In March 1968 he had a vivid dream in which
he saw Senator Robert Kennedy shot while giving his Inau-
gural Address. Immediately he told his wife and father
about the dream, and even wrote a letter to the Senator in
April but decided not to send it until after the election.
Even the correct names of the assassin and of two people
present occurred in his dream. But Mr. Londren dismissed
the dream since he knew that Roosevelt Grier and Rafe
Johnson were sports figures. He felt they would be out of
place in a drama involving the assassination of a political
candidate. Nevertheless, those were the two men who actu-
ally subdued the killer.

In a subsequent dream he saw St. Patrick’s Cathedral
in New York during Senator Kennedy’s funeral. People
were running about in a state of panic, and he had the feel-
ing that a bombing or shooting had taken place. So upset
was Mr. Londren by his second dream that he asked his
father, who had a friend in Washington, to make some
inquiries. Eventually the information was given to a Secret
Service man who respected extrasensory perception. The
New York City bomb squad was called in and the security
around the Cathedral was doubled. A man with an
unloaded gun was caught fifteen minutes before the Presi-
dent arrived for the funeral at the Cathedral. Mr. Lon-
dren 's second dream thus proved to be not only evidential
but of value in preventing what might have been another
crime.

* * *

Another amateur prophet is Elaine Morganelli, a Los
Angeles housewife. In May 1967 she predicted in writing
that President Johnson would be assassinated on June 4,
and sent this prediction along with others to her brother,
Lewis Olson. What she actually had heard was “President
assassination June 4.” Well, President Johnson was not
assassinated, but on June 5, 1968, Robert Kennedy, a pres-
idential candidate, was shot to death.

A sixteen-year-old teen-ager from Tennessee named
John Humphreys experienced a vision late in 1963. This
happened while he was in bed but not yet fully asleep. As
he looked at the floor of his room he saw several disembod-
ied heads. One of the heads was that of President
Kennedy, who had just been assassinated. The others, he
did not recognize at the time. Later, he realized who they
had been. One was the head of Robert Kennedy; the other
of Martin Luther King. He had the feeling at the time of
the vision that all three men would be shot in the head. He
also remembered two other heads — that of a Frenchman
and of a very large Englishman — but no names.

* * *

On April 16, 1968, a Canadian by the name of Mrs.
Joan Holt wrote to the Evening Standard premonition
bureau conducted by Peter Fairley, their science editor,

128

"Robert Kennedy to follow in his brother’s footsteps and
face similar danger.”

“There is going to be a tragic passing in the Kennedy
family very soon,” said British medium Minie Bridges at a
public sitting the last week of May 1968.

* * *

It seems clear to me that even the death of Senator
Kennedy was part of a predestined master plan, whether
we like it or not. Frequently, those who are already on the
other side of life know what will happen on earth, and if
they are not able to prevent it, they are at least ready to
help those who are coming across make the transition as
painlessly as possible under the circumstances.

To many people of Ireland, the Kennedys are great
heroes. Both these thoughts should be kept in mind as I
report still another psychic experience concerning the death
of Robert Kennedy.

* * *

A fifty-three-year-old secretary by the name of Mar-
garet M. Smith of Chicago, Illinois, was watching the
Robert Kennedy funeral on television. As his casket was
being carried out of the church to the hearse, she noticed a
row of men standing at either side of the casket with their
backs to it. They were dressed in gray business suits, very
plain, and wore gray hats. These men looked very solemn
and kept their eyes cast down. To her they looked like
natives of Ireland. In fact, the suits looked homespun. As
the casket went past, one of the men in the line turned his
head and looked at the casket. Miss Smith thought that a
person in a guard of honor should not do that, for she had
taken the man in the gray suit as part of an honor guard.
Then it occurred to her that the two lines of men were a
little hazy, in a lighter gray. But she took this to be due to
the television set, although other figures were quite clear.
Later she discussed the funeral with a friend of hers in
another city who had also seen the same broadcast. She
asked her friend if she knew who the men in gray had
been. Her friend had not seen the men in gray, nor had
any of the others she then asked about them. Soon it
became clear to Miss Smith that she alone had seen the
spirit forms of what she takes to be the Kennedys’ Irish
ancestors, who had come to pay their last respects in a fit-
ting manner.

* * *

An Indiana amateur prognosticator with a long record
of predictions, some of which have already come true while
others are yet in the future, has also contributed to the
material about the Kennedys. On August 7, 1968, D.
McClintic stated that Jackie Kennedy would be married.

At the time no such event was in the offing. On September
21, 1968, Mr. McClintic stated that there would be an
attempted kidnapping of one of the Kennedy boys. At the
same time he also predicted that the heads of the FBI and

the draft would be replaced within a short time. “J. E.
Hoover is near the end of being director. Also the director
of the draft, Hershey, is on the way out.”

* * *

D. McClintic predicted on January 18, 1969, that
Edward Kennedy would not run for President in 1972
because he might still be worried about his nephews. Mr.
McClintic didn’t spell out why Senator Kennedy should be
concerned about his nephews.

* * *

Another amateur psychic, Robert E., however, did.
On March 10, 1970, the psychic schoolteacher stated, "I
mentioned before that around Easter another Kennedy, one
of Senator Robert Kennedy’s boys, will drown in a boating
accident off the coast of Virginia, and the body will be
found between April 1st and April 5th in a muddy shallow
near a place with the word 'mile' in it. However, within a
month or so it will come out that Senator Ted Kennedy
covered for his nephew, who was actually the one who was
in the car with the girl at Chappaquiddick Island. The
Senator was not involved, and when this evidence becomes
known Kennedy’s popularity will soar.” Naturally, the two
psychics do not know of each other, nor did they ever have
any contact with each other.

One cannot dismiss Mr. McClintic too lightly when
one considers that on January 18, 1969, he predicted that
at the next election in England, Labor would be kicked out
of office; that Joseph Kennedy would die — which he did
shortly afterward; that the war in Vietnam would go on
and some American troops would be withdrawn, but not
too many; that there would be more attacks on Israeli air-
planes carrying passengers; and that Jordan’s throne would
be shaky again.

* * *

A different kind of prognosticator is Fredric Stoessel.
A college graduate and former combat Naval officer, he
heads his own business firm in New York, specializing in
market analysis and financing. Mr. Stoessel is a student of
Christian Science and has had psychic experiences all his
life. I have written of his predictions concerning the future
of the world in a book entitled The Prophets Speak. How-
ever, his involvement with the Kennedy family especially
the future of Ted Kennedy, is somewhat more elaborate
than his predictions pertaining to other events. In May
1967 he wrote an article entitled, "Why Was President
Kennedy Shot?” In Mr. Stoessel’s opinion a Communist
plot was involved. Mr. Stoessel bases his views on a mix-
ture of logical deduction, evaluations of existing political
realities, and a good measure of intuition and personal

The Ill-fated Kennedys:
From Visions to Ghosts

129

insight ranging all the way to sixth sense and psychic
impressions.

“There is some growing evidence to indicate Senator
Ted Kennedy may have been set up for this incident. By
whom is not certain, but we suspect the fine hand of orga-
nized crime.” Thus stated Fredric Stoessel in February of
1970. 1 discussed this matter with him on April 3 of the
same year at my home. Some of the things he told me were
off the record and I must honor his request. Other details
may be told here. Considering Fredric Stoessel’s back-
ground and his very cautious approach when making state-
ments of importance at a time the Chappaquiddick incident
was still in the news, I felt that perhaps he might come up
with angles not covered by anyone else before.

"What then is your intuitive feeling about Kennedy
and the girl? Was it an accident?” I asked. I decided to use
the term "intuitive” rather than "psychic,” although that is
what I really meant.

Mr. Stoessel thought this over for a moment. "I don’t
think it was an accident. I think it was staged, shall we
say.”

“What was meant to happen?”

"What was meant to happen was political embarrass-
ment for Teddy Kennedy. They were just trying to knock
him out as a political figure.”

“Do you think that he was aware of what had hap-
pened— that the girl had drowned?”

“No, 1 do not. I think he was telling the truth when
he said that he was in a state of shock.”

“Flow did ‘they’ engineer the accident?”

“I assume that he may have been drinking, but
frankly it’s an assumption. I think they would just wait
until they had the right setup. Fm sure a man like that was
watched very carefully.”

"ffave you any feelings about Kennedy’s future?”

“I think Ted Kennedy will make a very strong bid
for the presidency in 1972. 1 do not think he will be
elected.”

“Do you have any instinctive feelings about any
attack upon him?”

"I have had an instinctive feeling that there would be
an attack on Ted Kennedy from the civil rights elements.

In other words, I think he would be attacked so that there
would be a commotion over civil rights. Undoubtedly Ted
Kennedy will be the civil rights candidate.”

“When you say ‘attack,’ can you be more specific?”

“I think it will be an assassination attempt; specific,
shot.”

“Successful or not?”

“No, unsuccessful. This is instinctive.”

“Flow much into the future will this happen?”

"I think it will happen by 1972. I'm not too sure
exactly when, but I think when he is being built up for a
candidate.”

“As far as the other Kennedys were concerned, did
you at any time have any visions, impressions, dreams, or
other feelings concerning either the President or Bobby
Kennedy?”

“Well, I had a very strong sensation — in fact I wrote
several people — that he would not be on the ticket in 1964.
I had a strong impression that John F. Kennedy would not
be around for some reason or another.”

"When did you write this?”

“That was written to Perkins Bass, who was a Con-
gressman in New Hampshire, in 1962.”

“Did you have any impressions concerning the true
murderer of John F. Kennedy and the entire plot, if any?”

“As soon as the assassination occurred, in those three
days when we were all glued to the television sets, I was
inwardly convinced that Oswald did not kill him. My
impression of that was immediately reinforced, because
Oswald was asking for an attorney named John Abt, who
was a lawyer for the Communist Party. My instinctive feel-
ing was that Castro had a lot to do with it.”

“Prior to the killing of Robert Kennedy, did you have
any inkling that this was going to happen?”

“My wife reminded me that I had always said Bobby
would be assassinated. I said that for several months after
John died.”

"Do you believe there is a Kennedy curse in
operation?”

"Yes. I think there are forces surrounding the
Kennedy family that will bring tragedy to most every one
of them.”

“Will we have another Kennedy President?”

"I don’t think so. Although I think Teddy will make
a strong bid for it this next time.”

* * *

Certainly if a direct pipeline could be established to
one of the Kennedys — those on the other side of life, that
is — even more interesting material could be obtained. But
to make such an attempt at communication requires two
very definite things: one, a channel of communication —
that is to say, a medium of the highest professional and
ethical reputation — and two, the kind of questions that
could establish, at least to the point of reasonable doubt,
that communication really did occur between the investiga-
tor and the deceased.

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

130

* 13

Michie Tavern, Jefferson,
and the Boys

“This typical pre-Revolutionary tavern was a
favorite stopping place for travelers,” the official guide to
Charlottesville says. "With its colonial furniture and china,
its beamed and paneled rooms, it appears much the way it
did in the days when Jefferson and Monroe were visitors.
Monroe writes of entertaining Lafayette as his guest at din-
ner here, and General Andrew Jackson, fresh from his vic-
tory at New Orleans, stopped over on his way to
Washington.”

The guide, however, does not mention that the tavern
was moved a considerable distance from its original place
to a much more accessible location where the tourist trade
could benefit from it more. Regardless of this compara-
tively recent change of position, the tavern is exactly as it
was, with everything inside, including its ghosts, intact. At
the original site, it was surrounded by trees which framed
it and sometimes towered over it. At the new site, facing
the road, it looks out into the Virginia countryside almost
like a manor house. One walks up to the wooden structure
over a number of steps and enters the old tavern to the left
or, if one prefers, the pub to the right, which is nowadays a
coffee shop. Taverns in the eighteenth and early nineteenth
centuries were not simply bars or inns; they were meeting
places where people could talk freely, sometimes about
political subjects. They were used as headquarters for Rev-
olutionary movements or for invading military forces. Most
taverns of any size had ballrooms in which the social func-
tions of the area could be held. Only a few private individ-
uals were wealthy enough to have their own ballrooms
built into their manor houses.

What is fortunate about Michie Tavern is the fact
that everything is pretty much as it was in the eighteenth
century, and whatever restorations have been undertaken
are completely authentic. The furniture and cooking uten-
sils, the tools of the innkeeper, the porcelain, the china, the
metal objects are all of the period, whether they had been
in the house or not. As is customary with historical restora-
tions or preservations, whatever is missing in the house is
supplied by painstaking historical research, and objects of
the same period and the same area are substituted for those
presumably lost during the intervening period.

The tavern has three floors and a large number of
rooms, so we would need the two hours we had allowed
ourselves for the visit. After looking at the downstairs part
of the tavern, with its "common” kitchen and the over-long
wooden table where two dozen people could be fed, we
mounted the stairs to the second floor.

Ingrid, the medium, kept looking into various rooms,
sniffing out the psychic presences, as it were, while I fol-
lowed close behind. Horace Burr and Virginia Cloud kept a
respectable distance, as if trying not to “frighten” the

ghosts away. That was all right with me, because I did not
want Ingrid to tap the unconscious of either one of these
very knowledgeable people.

Finally we arrived in the third -floor ballroom of the
old tavern. I asked Ingrid what she had felt in the various
rooms below. “In the pink room on the second floor I felt
an argument or some sort of strife but nothing special in
any of the other rooms.”

"What about this big ballroom?”

“I can see a lot of people around here. There is a gay
atmosphere, and I think important people came here; it is
rather exclusive, this room. I think it was used just on spe-
cial occasions.”

By now I had waved Horace and Virginia to come
closer, since it had become obvious to me that they wanted
very much to hear what Ingrid was saying. Possibly new
material might come to light, unknown to both of these
historians, in which case they might verify it later on or
comment upon it on the spot.

"I’m impressed with an argument over a woman
here,” Ingrid continued. "It has to do with one of the dig-
nitaries, and it is about one of their wives.”

“How does the argument end?”

“I think they just had a quick argument here, about
her infidelity.”

“Who are the people involved?”

“I think Hamilton. I don’t know the woman’s name.”

“Who is the other man?”

“I think Jefferson was here.”

"Try to get as much of the argument as you can.”

Ingrid closed her eyes, sat down in a chair generally
off limits to visitors, and tried to tune in on the past. “I get
the argument as a real embarrassment,” she began. “The
woman is frail, she has a long dress on with lace at the top
part around the neck, her hair is light brown.”

“Does she take part in the argument?”

“Yes, she has to side with her husband.”

“Describe her husband.”

"I can’t see his face, but he is dressed in a brocade
jacket pulled back with buttons down the front and
breeches. It is a very fancy outfit.”

“How does it all end?”

“Well, nothing more is said. It is just a terrible
embarrassment.”

“Is this some sort of special occasion? Are there other
people here?”

“Yes, oh, yes. It is like an anniversary or something
of that sort. Perhaps a political anniversary of some kind.
There is music and dancing and candlelight."

While Ingrid was speaking, in an almost inaudible
voice, Horace and Virginia were straining to hear what she
was saying but not being very successful at it. At this point
Horace waved to me, and I tiptoed over to him. “Ask her
to get the period a little closer,” he whispered in my ear.

Michie Tavern, Jefferson, and the Boys

131

Michie Tavern —
Charlottesville, Virginia

I went back to Ingrid and put the question to her. “I
think it was toward the end of the war,” she said, “toward
the very end of it. For some time now I've had the figure
1781 impressed on my mind.”

Since nothing further seemed to be forthcoming from
Ingrid at this point, I asked her to relax and come back to
the present, so that we could discuss her impressions
freely.

“The name Hamilton is impossible in this connec-
tion,” Horace Burr began. But I was quick to interject that
the name Hamilton was fairly common in the late eigh-
teenth and early nineteenth centuries and that Ingrid need
not have referred to the Alexander Hamilton. "Jefferson
was here many times, and he could have been involved in
this,” Burr continued. “I think I know who the other man
might have been. But could we, just for once, try question-
ing the medium on specific issues?”

Neither Ingrid nor I objected, and Horace proceeded
to ask Ingrid to identify the couple she had felt in the ball-
room. Ingrid threw her head back for a moment, closed her
eyes, and then replied, “The man is very prominent in pol-
itics, one of the big three or four at the time, and one of
the reasons this is all so embarrassing, from what I get, is
that the other man is of much lower caliber. He is not one
of the big leaders; he may be an officer or something like
that."

While Ingrid was speaking, slowly, as it were, I again
felt the strange sense of transportation, of looking back in
time, which had been coming to me more and more often

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
132

recently, always unsought and usually only of fleeting dura-
tion. “For what it is worth,” I said, “while Ingrid is speak-
ing, I also get a very vague impression that all this has
something to do with two sisters. It concerns a rivalry
between two sisters.”

“The man’s outfit,” Ingrid continued her narrative,
“was sort of gold and white brocade and very fancy. He
was the husband. I don’t see the other man.”

Horace seemed unusually agitated at this. “Tell me,
did this couple live in this vicinity or did they come from
far away on a special anniversary?”

“They lived in the vicinity and came just for the
evening.”

“Well, Horace?" I said, getting more and more curi-
ous, since he was apparently driving in a specific direction.
“What was this all about?"

For once, Horace enjoyed being the center of attrac-
tion. “Well, it was a hot and heavy situation, all right. The
couple were Mr. and Mrs. John Walker — he was the son
of Dr. Walker of Castle Hill. And the man, who wasn’t
here, was Jefferson himself. Ingrid is right in saying that
they lived in the vicinity — Castle Hill is not far away from
here.”

“But what about the special festivity that brought
them all together here?”

Horace wasn’t sure what it could have been, but Vir-
ginia, in great excitement, broke in. “It was in this room
that the waltz was danced for the first time in America. A
young man had come from France dressed in very fancy
clothes. The lady he danced with was a closely chaperoned
girl from Charlottesville. She was very young, and she

danced the waltz with this young man, and everybody in
Charlottesville was shocked. The news went around town
that the young lady had danced with a man holding her,
and that was just terrible at the time. Perhaps that was the
occasion. Michie Tavern was a stopover for stagecoaches,
and Jefferson and the local people would meet here to get
their news. Downstairs was the meeting room, but up here
in the ballroom the more special events took place, such as
the introduction of the waltz."

I turned to Horace Burr. ‘‘How is it that this tavern
no longer stands on the original site? I understand it has
been moved here for easier tourist access.”

“Yes,” Horace replied. “The building originally stood
near the airport. In fact, the present airport is on part of
the old estate that belonged to Colonel John Henry, the
father of Patrick Henry. Young Patrick spent part of his
boyhood there. Later, Colonel Henry sold the land to the
Michies. This house was then their main house. It was on
the old highway. In turn, they built themselves an elabo-
rate mansion which is still standing and turned this house
into a tavern. All the events we have been discussing took
place while this building was on the old site. In 1926 it was
moved here. Originally, I think the ballroom we are stand-
ing in now was just the loft of the old Henry house. They
raised part of the roof to make it into a ballroom because
they had no meeting room in the tavern.”

In the attractively furnished coffee shop to the right
of the main tavern, Mrs. Juanita Godfrey, the manager,
served us steaming hot black coffee and sat down to chat
with us. Had anyone ever complained about unusual noises
or other inexplicable manifestations in the tavern? I asked.

“Some of the employees who work here at night do
hear certain sounds they can’t account for,” Mrs. Godfrey
replied. “They will hear something and go and look, and
there will be nothing there.”

"In what part of the building?”

“All over, even in this area. This is a section of the
slave quarters, and it is very old.”

Mrs. Godfrey did not seem too keen on psychic
experiences, I felt. To the best of her knowledge, no one
had had any unusual experiences in the tavern. “What
about the lady who slept here one night?” I inquired.

“You mean Mrs. Milton — yes, she slept here one
night.” But Mrs. Godfrey knew nothing of Mrs. Milton’s
experiences.

However, Virginia had met the lady, who was con-
nected with the historical preservation effort of the commu-

Monticello — Thomas Jefferson’s home

nity. “One night when Mrs. Milton was out of town,” Vir-
ginia explained, "I slept in her room. At the time she con-
fessed to me that she had heard footsteps frequently,
especially on the stairway down.”

"That is the area she slept in, yes,” Mrs. Godfrey
confirmed. “She slept in the ladies’ parlor on the first
floor.”

“What about yourself, Virginia? Did you hear
anything?”

"I heard noises, but the wood sometimes behaves
very funny. She, however, said they were definitely foot-
steps. That was in 1961.”

What had Ingrid unearthed in the ballroom of
Michie Tavern? Was it merely the lingering imprint of
America’s first waltz, scandalous to the early Americans
but innocent in the light of today? Or was it something
more — an involvement between Mrs. Walker and the illus-
trious Thomas Jefferson? My image of the great American
had always been that of a man above human frailties. But
my eyes were to be opened still further on a most intrigu-
ing visit to Monticello, Jefferson’s home.

Michie Tavern, Jefferson, and the Boys

133

» 14

A Visit with the Spirited Jefferson

‘You’re WELCOME TO visit Monticello to continue the
parapsychological research which you are conducting rela-
tive to the personalities of 1776,” wrote James A. Bear, Jr.,
of the Thomas Jefferson Memorial Foundation, and he
arranged for us to go to the popular tourist attraction after
regular hours, to permit Ingrid the peace and tranquility
necessary to tune in on the very fragile vibrations that
might hang on from the past.

Jefferson, along with Benjamin Franklin, is a widely
popular historical figure: a play, a musical, and a musical
film have brought him to life, showing him as the shy,
dedicated, intellectual architect of the Declaration of Inde-
pendence. Jefferson, the gentle Virginia farmer, the man
who wants to free the slaves but is thwarted in his efforts
by other Southerners; Jefferson, the ardent but bashful
lover of his wife; Jefferson, the ideal of virtue and Ameri-
can patriotism — these are the images put across by the
entertainment media, by countless books, and by the
tourist authorities which try to entice visitors to come to
Charlottesville and visit Jefferson’s home, Monticello.

Even the German tourist service plugged itself into
the Jefferson boom. “This is like a second mother country
for me,” Thomas Jefferson is quoted as saying while travel-
ing down the Rhine. “Everything that isn’t English in our
country comes from here.” Jefferson compared the German
Rhineland to certain portions of Maryland and Pennsylva-
nia and pointed out that the second largest ethnic group in
America at the time were Germans. In an article in the
German language weekly Aufbau, Jefferson is described as
the first prominent American tourist in the Rhineland. His
visit took place in April 1788. At the time Jefferson was
ambassador to Paris, and the Rhine journey allowed him to
study agriculture, customs, and conditions on both sides of
the Rhine. Unquestionably, Jefferson, along with Washing-
ton, Franklin, and Lincoln, represents one of the pillars of
the American edifice.

Virginia Cloud, ever the avid historian of her area,
points out that not only did Jefferson and John Adams
have a close relationship as friends and political contempo-
raries but there were certain uncanny “coincidences”
between their lives. For instance, Jefferson and Adams died
within hours of each other, Jefferson in Virginia and
Adams in Massachusetts, on July 4, 1826 — exactly fifty
years to the day they had both signed the Declaration of
Independence. Adams’s last words were, “But Jefferson
still lives.” At the time that was no longer true, for Jeffer-
son had died earlier in the day.

Jefferson’s imprint is all over Charlottesville. Not
only did the talented “Renaissance man” design his own
home, Monticello, but he also designed the Rotunda, the

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
134

focal point of the University of Virginia. Jefferson, Madi-
son, and Monroe were members of the first governing
board of the University, which is now famous for its school
of medicine — and which, incidentally, is the leading uni-
versity in the study of parapsychology, since Dr. Ian
Stevenson teaches there.

On our way to Monticello we decided to visit the old
Swan Tavern, which had some important links with Jeffer-
son. The tavern is now used as a private club, but the
directors graciously allowed us to come in, even the ladies,
who are generally not admitted. Nothing in the appoint-
ments reminds one of the old tavern, since the place has
been extensively remodeled to suit the requirements of the
private club. At first we inspected the downstairs and
smiled at several elderly gentlemen who hadn’t the slightest
idea why we were there. Then we went to the upper story
and finally came to rest in a room to the rear of the build-
ing. As soon as Ingrid had seated herself in a comfortable
chair in a corner, I closed the door and asked her what she
felt about this place, of which she had no knowledge.

"I feel that people came here to talk things over in a
lighter vein, perhaps over a few drinks.”

"Was there anyone in particular who was outstanding
among these people?”

"I keep thinking of Jefferson, and I’m seeing big
mugs; most of the men have big mugs in front of them.”

Considering that Ingrid did not know the past of the
building as a tavern, this was pretty evidential. I asked her
about Jefferson.

“I think he was the figurehead. This matter con-
cerned him greatly, but I don’t think it had anything to do
with his own wealth or anything like that.”

“At the time when this happened, was there a warlike
action in progress?”

"Yes, I think it was on the outskirts of town. I have
the feeling that somebody was trying to reach this place
and that they were waiting for somebody, and yet they
weren’t really expecting that person.”

Both Horace Burr and Virginia Cloud were visibly
excited that Ingrid had put her finger on it, so to speak.
Virginia had been championing the cause of the man about
whom Ingrid had just spoken. “Virginians are always
annoyed to hear about Paul Revere, who was actually an
old man with a tired horse that left Revere to walk home,”
Virginia said, somewhat acidly, “while Jack Jouett did far
more — he saved the lives of Thomas Jefferson and his leg-
islators. Yet, outside of Virginia, few have ever heard of
him.”

‘Perhaps Jouett didn’t have as good a press agent as
Paul Revere had in Longfellow, as you always say, Vir-
ginia,” Burr commented. I asked Virginia to sum up the
incident that Ingrid had touched on psychically.

“Jack Jouett was a native of Albemarle County and
was of French Huguenot origin. His father, Captain John
Jouett, owned this tavern.”

“We think there is a chance that he also owned the
Cuckoo Tavern in Louisa, forty miles from here,” Burr
interjected.

“Jouett had a son named Jack who stood six feet,
four inches and weighed over two hundred pounds. He was
an expert rider and one of those citizens who signed the
oath of allegiance to the Commonwealth of Virginia in
1779.

“It was June 3, 1781, and the government had fled to
Charlottesville from the advancing British troops. Most of
Virginia was in British hands, and General Cornwallis very
much wanted to capture the leaders of the Revolution,
especially Thomas Jefferson, who had authored the Decla-
ration of Independence, and Patrick Henry, whose motto,
‘Give me liberty or give me death,’ had so much con-
tributed to the success of the Revolution. In charge of two
hundred fifty cavalrymen was Sir Banastre Tarleton. His
mission was to get to Charlottesville as quickly as possible
to capture the leaders of the uprising. Tarleton was deter-
mined to cover the seventy miles’ distance between Corn-
wallis’ headquarters and Charlottesville in a single
twenty-four-hour period, in order to surprise the leaders of
the American independence movement.

“In the town of Louisa, forty miles distant from
Charlottesville, he and his men stopped into the Cuckoo
Tavern for a brief respite. Fate would have it that Jack
Jouett was at the tavern at that moment, looking after his
father’s business. It was a very hot day for June, and the
men were thirsty. Despite Tarleton’s orders, their tongues
loosened, and Jack Jouett was able to overhear their desti-
nation. Jack decided to outride them and warn Char-
lottesville. It was about 10 P.M. when he got on his best
horse, determined to take shortcuts and side roads, while
the British would have to stick to the main road. Fortu-
nately it was a moonlit night; otherwise he might not have
made it in the rugged hill country.

“Meanwhile the British were moving ahead too, and
around 1 1 o’clock they came to a halt on a plantation near
Louisa. By 2 A.M. they had resumed their forward march.
They paused again a few hours later to seize and burn a
train of twelve wagons loaded with arms and clothing for
the Continental troops in South Carolina. When dawn
broke over Charlottesville, Jouett had left the British far
behind. Arriving at Monticello, he dashed up to the front
entrance to rouse Jefferson; however, Governor Jefferson,
who was an early riser, had seen the rider tear up his dri-
veway and met him at the door. Ever the gentleman, Jef-
ferson offered the exhausted messenger a glass of wine
before allowing him to proceed to Charlottesville proper,
two miles farther on. There he roused the other members
of the government, while Jefferson woke his family. Two
hours later, when Tarleton came thundering into Char-
lottesville, the government of Virginia had vanished.”

“That’s quite a story, Virginia,” I said.

"Of course,” Burr added, “Tarleton and his men
might have been here even earlier if it hadn’t been for the

fact that they first stopped at Castle Hill. Dr. and Mrs.
Walker entertained them lavishly and served them a sump-
tuous breakfast. It was not only sumptuous but also delay-
ing, and Dr. Walker played the perfect host to the hilt,
showing Tarleton about the place despite the British com-
mander’s impatience, even to measuring Tarleton’s orderly
on the living-room doorjamb. This trooper was the tallest
man in the British army and proved to be 6’9 14” tall. Due
to these and other delaying tactics — the Walkers made Jack
Jouett ’s ride a complete success. Several members of the
legislature who were visiting Dr. Walker at the time were
captured, but Jefferson and the bulk of the legislature,
which had just begun to convene that morning, got away.

After Thomas Jefferson had taken refuge at the house
of Mr. Cole, where he was not likely to be found, Jouett
went to his room at his father’s tavern, the very house we
were in. He had well deserved his rest. Among those who
were hiding from British arrest was Patrick Henry. He
arrived at a certain farmhouse and identified himself by
saying, “I’m Patrick Henry.” But the farmer’s wife replied,
“Oh, you couldn’t be, because my husband is out there
fighting, and Patrick Henry would be out there too.”

Henry managed to convince the farmer’s wife that his life
depended on his hiding in her house, and finally she
understood. But it was toward the end of the Revolutionary
War and the British knew very well that they had for all
intents and purposes been beaten. Consequently, shortly
afterward, Cornwallis suggested to the Virginia legislators
that they return to Charlottesville to resume their offices.

It was time to proceed to Monticello; the afternoon
sun was setting, and we would be arriving just after the
last tourists had left. Monticello, which every child knows
from its representation on the American five-cent piece, is
probably one of the finest examples of American architec-
ture, designed by Jefferson himself, who lies buried there
in the family graveyerd. It stands on a hill looking down in
to the valley of Charlottesville. Carefully landscaped
grounds surround the house. Inside, the house is laid out
in classical proportions. From the entrance hall with its
famous clock, also designed by Jefferson, one enters a large,
round room, the heart of the house. On both sides of this
central area are rectangular rooms. To the left is a corner
room, used as a study and library from where Jefferson,
frequently in the morning before anyone else was up, used
to look out on the rolling hills ofVirginia. Adjacent to it is
a very small bedroom, almost a bunk. Thus, the entire
west wing of the building is a self-contained apartment in
which Jefferson could be active without interfering with the
rest of his family. In the other side of the round central
room is a large dining room leading to a terrace which, in
turn, continues into an open walk with a magnificent view
of the hillside. The furniture is Jefferson’s own, as are the
silver and china, some of it returned to Monticello by

A Visit with the Spirited Jefferson

135

history-conscious citizens of the area who had previously
purchased it.

The first room we visited was Jefferson’s bedroom.
Almost in awe herself, Ingrid touched the bedspread of
what was once Jefferson’s bed, then his desk, and the
books he had handled. “I feel his presence her,” she said,
"and I think he did a lot of his work in this room, a lot of
planning and working things out, till the wee hours of the
night.” I don’t think Ingrid knew that Jefferson was in the
habit of doing just that, in this particular room.

I motioned Ingrid to sit down in one of Jefferson’s
chairs and try to capture whatever she might receive from
the past. "I can see an awful lot of hard work, sleepless
nights, and turmoil. Other than that, nothing.”

We went into the library next to the study. “I don’t
think he spent much time here really, just for reference.”
On we went to the dining room to the right of the central
room. "I think this was his favorite room, and he loved to
meet people here socially.” Then she added, “I get the
words ‘plum pudding' and ‘hot liquor.”'

“Well,” Burr commented, "he loved the lighter
things of life. He brought ice cream to America, and he
squirted milk directly from the cow into a goblet to make it
froth. He had a French palate. He liked what we used to
call floating island, a very elaborate dessert.”

"I see a lot of people. It is a friendly gathering with
glittering glasses and candlelight.” Ingrid said. “They are
elegant but don’t have on overcoats. I see their white silken
shirts. I see them laughing and passing things around. Jef-
ferson is at the table with white hair pulled back, leaning
over and laughing.”

The sun was setting, since it was getting toward half
past six now, and we started to walk out the French glass
doors onto the terrace. From there an open walk led
around a sharp corner to a small building, perhaps twenty
or twenty -five yards in the distance. Built in the same clas-
sical American style as Monticello itself, the building con-
tained two fair-sized roooms, on two stories. The walk led
to the entrance to the upper story, barricaded by an iron
grillwork to keep tourists out. It allowed us to enter the
room only partially, but sufficiently for Ingrid to get her
bearings. Outside, the temperature sank rapidly as the
evening approached. A wind had risen, and so it was pleas-
ant to be inside the protective walls of the little house.

“Horace, where are we now?” I asked.

“We are in the honeymoon cottage where Thomas
Jefferson brought his bride and lived at the time when his
men were building Monticello. Jefferson and his family
lived here at the very beginning, so you might say that
whatever impressions there are here would be of the pre-
Revolutionary part of Jefferson’s life.”

I turned to Ingrid and asked for her impressions. "I
feel everything is very personal here and light, and I don’t
feel the tremendous starin in the planning of things I felt

in the Monticello building. As I close my eyes, I get a
funny feeling about a bouquet of flowers, some very strong
and peculiar exotic flowers. They are either pink or light
red and have a funny name, and I have a feeling that a
woman involved in this impression is particularly fond of a
specific kind of flower. He goes out of his way to get them
for her, and I also get the feeling of a liking for a certain
kind of china porcelain. Someone is a collector and wants
to buy certain things, being a connoisseur, and wants to
have little knick-knacks all over the place. I don’t know if
any of this makes any sense, but this is how I see it.”

“It makes sense indeed,” Horace Burr replied. “Jef-
ferson did more to import rare trees and rare flowering
shrubs than anyone else around here. In fact, he sent ship-
ments back from France while he stayed there and indi-
cated that they were so rare that if you planted them in one
place they might not succeed. So he planted only a third at
Monticello, a third at Verdant Lawn, which is an old estate
belonging to a friend of his, and a third somewhere else in
Virginia. It was his idea to plant them in three places to
see if they would thrive in his Virginia.”

"The name Rousseau comes to mind. Did he know
anyone by that name?” Ingrid asked.

“Of course, he was much influenced by Rousseau.”

“I also get the feeling of a flickering flame, a habit of
staying up to all hours of the morning. Oh, and is there
any historical record of an argument concerning this habit
of his, between his wife and himself and some kind of
peacemaking gesture on someone else’s part?”

“I am sure there was an argument," Horace said.

“but I doubt that there ever was a peacemaking gesture.
You see, their marriage was not a blissful one; she was very
wealthy and he spent her entire estate, just as he spent
Dabney Carr’s entire estate and George Short’s entire
estate. He went through estate after estate, including his
own. Dabney Carr was his cousin, and he married Jeffer-
son’s sister, Martha. He was very wealthy, but Jefferson
gathered up his sister and the children and brought them
here after Carr’s death. He then took over all the planta-
tions and effects of Mr. Carr.

“Jefferson was a collector of things. He wrote three
catalogues of his own collection, and when he died it was
the largest collection in America. You are right about the
porcelain, because it was terribly sophisticated at that time
to be up on porcelain. The clipper trade was bringing in
these rarities, and he liked to collect them.”

Since Ingrid had scored so nicely up to now, I asked
her whether she felt any particular emotional event con-
nected with this little house.

“Well, I think the wife was not living on her level,
her standard, and she was unhappy. It wasn’t what she was
used to. It wasn’t grand enough. I think she had doubts
about him and his plans.”

“In what sense?”

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
136

“I think she was dubious about what would happen.
She was worried that he was getting too involved, and she
didn’t like his political affiliations too well.”

I turned to Horace for comments. To my surprise,
Horace asked me to turn off my tape recorder since the
information was of a highly confidential nature. However,
he pointed out that the material could be found in Ameri-
can Heritage, and that I was free to tell the story in my
own words.

Apparently, there had always been a problem
between Jefferson and his wife concerning other women.
His associations were many and varied. Perhaps the most
lasting was with a beautiful young black woman, about the
same age as his wife. She was the illegitimate natural child
of W. Skelton, a local gentleman, and served as a personal
maid to Mrs. Jefferson. Eventually, Jefferson had a number
of children by this woman. He even took her to Paris. He
would send for her. This went on for a number of years
and eventually contributed to the disillusionment of this
woman. She died in a little room upstairs, and they took
the coffin up there some way, but when they put it
together and got her into the coffin, it wouldn’t come

downstairs. They had to take all the windows out and
lower her on a rope. And what was she doing up there in
the first place? All this did not contribute to Mrs. Jeffer-
son’s happiness. The tragedy is that, after Jefferson’s death,
two of his mulatto children were sent to New Orleans and
sold as prostitutes to pay his debts. There are said to be
some descendants of that liaison alive today, but you won’t
find any of this in American textbooks.

Gossip and legend intermingle in small towns and in
the countryside. This is especially true when important his-
torical figures are involved. So it is said that Jefferson did
not die a natural death. Allegedly, he committed suicide by
cutting his own throat. Toward the end of Jefferson’s life,
there was a bitter feud between himself and the Lewis fam-
ily. Accusations and counteraccusations are said to have
gone back and forth. Jefferson is said to have had Merri-
weather Lewis murdered and, prior to that, to have accused
Mr. Lewis of a number of strange things that were not
true. But none of these legends and rumors can be proved
in terms of judicial procedure; when it comes to patriotic
heroes of the American Revolution, the line between truth
and fiction is always rather indistinct.

* 15

Major Andre and the
Question of Loyalty

"MAJOR John Andre’s fateful excursion from General Sir
Henry Clinton’s headquarters at Number I Broadway to
the gallows on the hill at Tappan took less than a week of
the eighteenth century, exactly one hundred seventy years
ago at this writing. It seems incredible that this journey
should make memorable the roads he followed, the houses
he entered, the roadside wells where he stopped to quench
his thirst, the words he spoke. But it did.” This eloquent
statement by Harry Hansen goes a long way in describing
the relative importance of so temporary a matter as the fate
and capture of a British agent during the Revolutionary
War.

In the Tarrytowns, up in Westchester County, places
associated with Andre are considered prime tourist attrac-
tions. More research effort has been expended on the
exploration of even the most minute detail of the ill-fated
Andre's last voyage than on some far worthier (but less
romantic) historical projects elsewhere. A number of good
books have been written about the incident, every school-
boy knows about it, and John Andre has gone into history
as a gentlemanly but losing hero of the American Revolu-
tionary War. But in presenting history to schoolchildren as
well as to the average adult, most American texts ignore
the basic situation as it then existed.

To begin with, the American Revolutionary War was
more of a civil war than a war between two nations. Inde-
pendence was by no means desired by all Americans; in
fact, the Declaration of Independence had difficulty passing
the Continental Congress and did so only after much nego-
tiating behind the scenes and the elimination of a number
of passages, such as those relating to the issue of slavery,
considered unacceptable by Southerners. When the Decla-
ration of Independence did become the law of the land — at
least as far as its advocates were concerned — there were
still those who had not supported it originally and who felt
themselves put in the peculiar position of being disloyal to
their new country or becoming disloyal to the country they
felt they ought to be loyal to. Those who preferred contin-
ued ties with Great Britain were called Tories, and num-
bered among them generally were the more influential and
wealthier elements in the colonies. There were exceptions,
of course, but on the whole the conservatives did not sup-
port the cause of the Revolution by any means. Any notion
that the country arose as one to fight the terrible British is
pure political make-believe. The issues were deep and
manifold, but they might have been resolved eventually
through negotiations. There is no telling what might have
happened if both England and the United Colonies had
continued to negotiate for a better relationship. The recent
civil war in Spain was far more a war between two distinct
groups than was the American Revolutionary War. In the
latter, friends and enemies lived side by side in many areas,

Major Andre and the Question of Loyalty

137

the lines were indistinctly drawn, and members of the same
family might support one side or the other. The issue was
not between Britain, the invading enemy, and America, the
attacked; on the contrary, it was between the renunciation
of all ties with the motherland and continued adherence to
some form of relationship. Thus, it had become a political
issue far more than a purely patriotic or national issue.
After all, there were people of the same national back-
ground on both sides, and nearly everyone had relatives in
England.

Under the circumstances, the question of what con-
stituted loyalty was a tricky one. To the British, the
colonies were in rebellion and thus disloyal to the king. To
the Americans, anyone supporting the British government
after the Declaration of Independence was considered dis-
loyal. But the percentage of those who could not support
independence was very large all through the war, far more
than a few scattered individuals. While some of these
Tories continued to support Britain for personal or com-
mercial reasons, others did so out of honest political con-
viction. To them, helping a British soldier did not
constitute high treason but, to the contrary, was their nor-
mal duty. Added to this dilemma was the fact that there
were numerous cases of individuals crossing the lines on
both sides, for local business reasons, to remove women
and children caught behind the lines, or to parley about
military matters, such as the surrender of small detach-
ments incapable of rejoining their regiments, or the obtain-
ing of help for wounded soldiers. The Revolutionary War
was not savagely fought; it was, after all, a war between
gentlemen. There were no atrocities, no concentration
camps, and no slaughter of the innocent.

In the fall of 1780 the situation had deteriorated to a
standstill of sorts, albeit to the detriment of the American
forces. The British were in control of the entire South, and
they held New York firmly in their grip. The British sloop
Vulture was anchored in the middle of the Hudson River
opposite Croton Point. In this position, it was not too far
from that formidable bastion of the American defense sys-
tem, West Point. Only West Point and its multiple fortifi-
cations stood in the way of total defeat for the American
forces.

Picture, if you will, the situation in and around New
York. The British Army was in full control of the city, that
is to say, Manhattan, with the British lines going right
through Westchester County. The Americans were
entrenched on the New Jersey shore and on both sides of
the Hudson River from Westchester County upward. On
the American side were first of all, the regular Continental
Army, commanded by General Washington, and also vari-
ous units of local militia. Uniforms for the militia men ran
the gamut of paramilitary to civilian, and their training and
backgrounds were also extremely spotty. It would have

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

been difficult at times to distinguish a soldier of the Revo-
lutionary forces from a civilian.

The British didn’t call on the citizens of the area they
occupied for special services, but it lay in the nature of this
peculiar war that many volunteered to help either side. The
same situation which existed among the civilian population
in the occupied areas also prevailed where the Revolution
was successful. Tory families kept on giving support to the
British, and when they were found out they were charged
with high treason. Nevertheless, they continued right on
supplying aid. Moreover, the lines between British and
American forces were not always clearly drawn. They
shifted from day to day, and if anyone wanted to cross
from north of Westchester into New Jersey, for instance,
he might very well find himself in the wrong part of the
country if he didn't know his way around or if he hadn’t
checked the latest information. To make matters even more
confusing, Sir Henry Clinton was in charge of the British
troops in New York City, while Governor Clinton ruled
the state of New York, one of the thirteen colonies, from
Albany.

In the spring of 1779 Sir Henry Clinton received let-
ters from an unknown correspondent who signed himself
only “Gustavus.” From the content of these letters, the
British commander knew instantly that he was dealing with
a high-ranking American officer. Someone on the American
side wished to make contact in order to serve the British
cause. Clinton turned the matter over to his capable adju-
tant general, Major John Andre. Andre, whose specialty
was what we call intelligence today, replied to the letters,
using the pseudonym John Anderson.

Andre had originally been active in the business
world but purchased a commission as a second lieutenant
in the British Army in 1771. He arrived in America in
1774 and served in the Philadelphia area. Eventually he
served in a number of campaigns and by 1777 had been
promoted to captain. Among the wealthy Tory families he
became friendly with during the British occupation of
Philadelphia was the Shippen family. One of the daughters
of that family later married General Benedict Arnold.

Andre’s first major intelligence job was to make con-
tact with a secret body of Royalists living near Chesapeake
Bay. This group of Royalists had agreed to rise against the
Americans if military protection were sent to them. Essen-
tially, Andre was a staff officer, not too familiar with field
work and therefore apt to get into difficulties once faced
with the realities of rugged terrain. As the correspondence
continued, both Clinton and Andre suspected that the
Loyalist writing the letters was none other than General
Benedict Arnold, and eventually Arnold conceded this.

After many false starts, a meeting took place between
Major General Benedict Arnold, the commander of West
Point, and Major John Andre on the night of September
21, 1780, at Haverstraw on the Hudson. At the time,
Arnold made his headquarters at the house of Colonel Bev-
erley Robinson, which was near West Point.

138

The trip had been undertaken on Andre’s insistence,
very much against the wishes of his immediate superior, Sir
Henry Clinton. As Andre was leaving, Clinton reminded
him that under no circumstances was he to change his uni-
form or to take papers with him. It was quite sufficient to
exchange views with General Arnold and then to return to
the safety of the British lines.

Unfortunately, Andre disobeyed these commands.
General Arnold had with him six papers which he per-
suaded Andre to place between his stockings and his feet.
The six papers contained vital information about the forti-
fications at West Point, sufficient to allow the British to
capture the strongpoint with Arnold’s help. “The six
papers which Arnold persuaded Andre to place between his
stockings and his feet did not contain anything of value
that could not have been entrusted to Andre’s memory or
at most contained in a few lines in cipher that would not
have been intelligible to anyone else,” states Otto Hufeland
in his book Westchester County during the American Revolu-
tion. But it is thought that Andre still distrusted General
Arnold and wanted something in the latter's handwriting
that would incriminate him if there was any deception.

It was already morning when the two men parted.
General Arnold returned to his headquarters by barge,
leaving Andre with Joshua Smith, who was to see to his
safe return. Andre's original plan was to get to the sloop
Vulture and return to New York by that route. But some-
how Joshua Smith convinced him that he should go by
land. He also persuaded Andre to put on a civilian coat,
which he supplied. General Arnold had given them passes
to get through the lines, so toward sunset Andre, Smith,
and a servant rode down to King’s Ferry, crossing the river
from Stony Point to Verplanck’s Point and on into
Westchester County.

Taking various back roads and little-used paths
which made the journey much longer, Andre eventually
arrived at a spot not far from Philipse Castle. There he ran
into three militia men: John Paulding, Isaac Van Wart, and
David Williams. They were uneducated men in their early
twenties, and far from experienced in such matters as how
to question a suspected spy. The three fellows weren’t
looking for spies, however, but for cattle thieves which
were then plaguing the area. They were on the lookout
near the Albany Post Road when Van Wart saw Andre
pass on his horse. They stopped him, and that is where
Andre made his first mistake. Misinterpreting the Hessian
coat Paulding wore (he had obtained it four days before
when escaping from a New York prison) and thinking that
he was among British Loyalists, he immediately identified
himself as a British officer and asked them not to detain
him. But the three militia men made him dismount and
undress, and then the documents were discovered. It has
been said that they weren’t suspicious of him at all, but
that the elegant boots, something very valuable in those
days, tempted them, and that they were more interested in
Andre’s clothing than in what he might have on him.

Whatever the motivation, Andre was brought to Colonel
Jameson’s headquarters at Sand’s Mill, which is called
Armonk today.

Jameson sent the prisoner to General Arnold, a
strange decision which indicates some sort of private
motive. The papers, however, he sent directly to General
Washington, who was then at Hartford. Only upon the
return of his next -in -command, Major Tallmadge, did the
real state of affairs come to light. On Tallmadge’s insis-
tence, the party escorting Andre to General Arnold was
recalled and brought back to Sand’s Mills. But a letter
telling General Arnold of Andre’s capture was permitted to
continue on its way to West Point!

Benedict Arnold received the letter the next morning
at breakfast. The General rose from the table, announced
that he had to go across the river to West Point immedi-
ately, and went to his room in great agitation. His wife fol-
lowed him, and he informed her that he must leave at
once, perhaps forever. Then he mounted his horse and
dashed down to the riverside. Jumping into his barge, he
ordered his men to row him to the Vulture, some seventeen
miles below. He explained to his men that he came on a
flag of truce and promised them an extra ration of rum if
they made it particularly quickly. When the barge arrived
at the British vessel, he jumped aboard and even tried to
force the bargemen to enter the King’s service on the threat
of making them prisoners. The men refused, and the Vul-
ture sailed on to New York City. On arrival, General Clin-
ton freed the bargemen, a most unusual act of gallantry in
those days.

Meanwhile Andre was being tried as a spy. Found
guilty by a court-martial at Tappan, he was executed by
hanging on October 2, 1780. The three militia men who
had thus saved the very existence of the new republic were
voted special medals by Congress.

* * *

The entire area around Tappan and the Tarrytowns
is "Andre” country. At Philipse Castle there is a special
exhibit of Andre memorabilia in a tiny closet under the
stairs. There is a persistent rumor that Andre was trying to
escape from his captors. According to Mrs. Cornelia Beek-
man, who then lived at the van Cortlandt House in Peek-
skill, there was in her house a suitcase containing an
American army uniform and a lot of cash. That suitcase
was to be turned over to anyone bringing a written note
from Andre. Joshua Hett Smith, who had helped Andre
escape after his meeting with Arnold, later asked for the
suitcase; however, as Smith had nothing in writing, Beek-
man refused to give it to him. However, this story came to
light only many years after the Revolution, perhaps
because Mrs. Beekman feared to be drawn into a treason
trial or because she had some feelings of her own in the
matter.

Major Andre and the Question of Loyalty

139

Our next stop was to be the van Cortlandt mansion,
not more than fifteen minutes away by car. Obviously, Pat
Smith was in a good mood this morning. In her little for-
eign car she preceded us at such a pace that we had great
difficulty keeping up with her. It was a sight to behold how
this lady eased her way in and out of traffic with an almost
serpentine agility that made us wonder how long she could
keep it up. Bravely following her, we passed Sleepy Hollow
Cemetery and gave it some thought. No, we were not too
much concerned with all the illustrious Dutch Americans
buried there, nor with Washington Irving and nearby Sun-
nyside; we were frankly concerned with ourselves. Would
we also wind up at Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, or would we
make it to the van Cortlandt mansion in one piece. . .?

The mansion itself is a handsome two-story building,
meticulously restored and furnished with furniture and art-
works of the eighteenth century, some of it from the origi-
nal house. Turned into a tourist attraction by the same
foundation which looked after Philipsburg Manor, the
house, situated on a bluff, is a perfect example of how to
run an outdoor museum. Prior to climbing the hill to the
mansion itself, however, we visited the ferryboat house at
the foot of the hill. In the eighteenth century and the early
part of the nineteenth century, the river came close to the
house, and it was possible for the ships bringing goods to
the van Cortlandts to come a considerable distance inland
to discharge their merchandise. The Ferryboat Inn seemed
a natural outgrowth of having a ferry at that spot: the ferry
itself crossed an arm of the Hudson River, not very wide,
but wide enough not to be forded on foot or by a small
boat. Since so much of these buildings had been restored, I
wondered whether Ingrid would pick up anything from the
past.

The inn turned out to be a charming little house.
Downstairs we found what must have been the public
room, a kitchen, and another room, with a winding stair-
case leading to the upper story. Frankly, I expected very
little from this but did not want to offend Pat Smith, who
had suggested the visit.

“Funny,” Ingrid said, “when I walked into the door,

I had the feeling that I had to force my way through a
crowd."

The curator seemed surprised at this, for she hadn't
expected anything from this particular visit either. “I can’t
understand this,” she said plaintively. “This is one of the
friendliest buildings we have.”

“Well,” I said, “ferryboat inns in the old days
weren’t exactly like the Hilton."

“I feel a lot of activity here,” Ingrid said. "Something
happened here, not a hanging, but connected with one.”

We went upstairs, where I stopped Ingrid in front of
a niche that contained a contemporary print of Andre's
execution. As yet we had not discussed Major Andre or his
connection with the area, and I doubt very much whether

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

Ingrid realized there was a connection. “As you look at
this, do you have any idea who it is?” I asked.

Ingrid, who is very nearsighted, looked at the picture
from a distance and said, “I feel that he may have come
through this place at one time.” And so he might have.

As we walked up the hill to the van Cortlandt man-
sion, the time being just right for a visit as the tourists
would be leaving, I questioned Pat Smith about the
mansion.

“My mother used to know the family who owns the
house,” Pat Smith began. “Among the last descendants of
the van Cortlandts were Mrs. Jean Brown and a Mrs.
Mason. This was in the late thirties or the forties, when I
lived in New Canaan. Apparently, there were such mani-
festations at the house that the two ladies called the Arch-
bishop of New York for help. They complained that a
spirit was ‘acting up,’ that there were the sound of a coach
that no one could see and other inexplicable noises of the
usual poltergeist nature.”

“What did they do about it?”

"Despite his reluctance to get involved, the Arch-
bishop did go up to the manor, partly because of the
prominence of the family. He put on his full regalia and
went through a ritual of exorcism. Whether or not it did
any good, I don’t know, but a little later a psychic sensitive
went through the house also and recorded some of these
noises. As far as I know, none of it was ever published,
and for all I know, it may still be there — the specter, that
is.”

We now had arrived at the mansion, and we entered
the downstairs portion of the house. Two young ladies
dressed in colonial costumes received us and offered us
some cornmeal tidbits baked in the colonial manner. We
went over the house from top to bottom, from bottom to
top, but Ingrid felt absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.
True, she felt the vibrations of people having lived in the
house, having come and gone, but no tragedy, no deep
imprint, and, above all, no presence. Pat Smith seemed a
little disappointed. She didn’t really believe in ghosts as
such, but, having had some ESP experiences at Sunnyside,
she wasn’t altogether sure. At that instant she remembered
having left her shopping bag at the Ferryboat Inn. The bag
contained much literature on the various colonial houses in
the area, and she wanted to give it to us. Excusing herself,
she dashed madly back down the hill to the Ferryboat Inn.
She was back in no time, a little out of breath, which made
me wonder whether she had wanted to make her solo visit
to the Ferryboat Inn at dusk just as brief as humanly
possible.

* * *

In a splendid Victorian mansion surmounted by a
central tower, the Historical Society of the Tarrytowns
functions as an extremely well organized local museum as
well as a research center. Too prudent to display items of
general interest that might be found elsewhere in greater

140

quantity and better quality, the Historical Society concen-
trates on items and information pertaining to the immedi-
ate area. It is particularly strong on pamphlets, papers,
maps, and other literature of the area from 1786 onward.
One of the principal rooms in the Society’s museum is the
so-called Captors’ Room. In it are displays of a sizable col-
lection of material dealing with the capture of Major
Andre. These include lithographs, engravings, documen-
tary material, letters, and, among other things, a chair. It is
the chair Andre sat in when he was still a free man at the
Underhill home, south ofYorktown Heights. Mrs. Ade-
laide Smith, the curator, was exceptionally helpful to us
when we stated the purpose of our visit. Again, as I always
do, I prevented Ingrid from hearing my conversation with
Mrs. Smith, or with Miss Smith, who had come along now
that she had recovered her shopping bag full of literature.
As soon as I could get a moment alone with Ingrid, I asked
her to touch the chair in question.

“I get just a slight impression," she said, seating her-
self in the chair, then getting up again. “There may have
been a meeting in here of some kind, or he may have been
sentenced while near or sitting in this chair. I think there
was a meeting in this room to determine what would
happen.”

But she could not get anything very strong about the
chair. Looking at the memorabilia, she then commented, "I
feel he was chased for quite a while before he was cap-
tured. I do feel that the chair in this room has something
to do with his sentence."

“Is the chair authentic?”

"Yes, I think so.”

“Now concerning this room, the Captors’ Room, do
you feel anything special about it?”

“Yes, I think this is where it was decided, and I feel
there were a lot of men here, men from town and from the
government.”

Had Ingrid wanted to manufacture a likely story to
please me, she could not have done worse. Everything
about the room and the building would have told her that
it was of the nineteenth century, and that the impression
she had just described seemed out of place, historically
speaking. But those were her feelings, and as a good sensi-
tive she felt obliged to say whatever came into her mind or
whatever she was impressed with, not to examine it as to
whether it fit in with the situation she found herself in. I
turned to the curator and asked, “Mrs. Smith, what was
this room used for, and how old is the building itself?”

“The building is about one hundred twenty-five years
old; our records show it was built between 1848 and 1850
by Captain Jacob Odell, the first mayor of Tarrytown. It
was built as one house, and since its erection two families
have lived here. First, there were the Odells, and later Mr.
and Mrs. Aussie Case. Mrs. Case is eighty-seven now and
retired. This house was purchased for the Society to
become their headquarters. It has been used as our head-
quarters for over twenty years.”

“Was there anything on this spot before this house
was built?”

“I don’t know."

“Has anyone ever been tried or judged in this room?”

“I don’t know.”

Realizing that a piece of furniture might bring with
itself part of the atmosphere in which it stood when some
particularly emotional event took place, I questioned Mrs.
Smith about the history of the chair.

“This chair, dated 1725, was presented to us from
Yorktown. It was the chair in which Major Andre sat the
morning of his capture, when he and Joshua Smith stopped
at the home of Isaac Underhill for breakfast.”

The thoughts going through Andre’s head that morn-
ing, when he was almost sure of a successful mission, must
have been fairly happy ones. He had succeeded in obtain-
ing the papers from General Arnold; he had slept reason-
ably well, been fed a good breakfast, and was now,
presumably, on his way to Manhattan and a reunion with
his commanding general, Sir Henry Clinton. If Ingrid felt
any meetings around that chair, she might be reaching
back beyond Andre’s short use of the chair, perhaps into
the history of the Underhill home itself. Why, then, did
she speak of sentence and capture, facts she would know
from the well-known historical account of Major Andre’s
mission? I think that the many documents and memorabilia
stored in the comparatively small room might have created
a common atmosphere in which bits and snatches of past
happenings had been reproduced in some fashion. Perhaps
Ingrid was able to tune in on this shallow but nevertheless
still extant psychic layer.

Major Andre became a sort of celebrity in his own
time. His stature as a British master spy was exaggerated
far out of proportion even during the Revolutionary War.
This is understandable when one realizes how close the
cause of American independence had come to total defeat.
If Andre had delivered the documents entrusted to him by
Major General Arnold to the British, West Point could not
have been held. With the fall of the complicated fortifica-
tions at the point, the entire North would have soon been
occupied by the British. Unquestionably, the capture of
Major Andre was a turning point in the war, which had
then reached a stalemate, albeit one in favor of the British.
They could afford to wait and sit it out while the Conti-
nental troops were starving to death, unable to last another
winter.

General Arnold’s betrayal was by no means a sudden
decision; his feelings about the war had changed some time
prior to the actual act. The reasons may be seen in his
background, his strong Tory leanings, and a certain resent-
ment against the command of the Revolutionary Army. He
felt he had not advanced quickly enough; the command at
West Point was given him only three months prior to
Andre’s capture. Rather than being grateful for the belated

Major Andre and the Question of Loyalty

141

recognition of his talents by the Continental command,
Arnold saw it as a godsend to fulfill his own nefarious task.
For several months he had been in correspondence with Sir
Henry Clinton in New York, and his decision to betray the
cause of independence was made long before he became
commander of West Point.

But Andre wasn’t the master spy later accounts try to
make him out: his bumbling response when captured by
the three militia men shows that he was far from experi-
enced in such matters. Since he had carried on his person a
laissez-passer signed by General Arnold, he needed only to
produce this document and the men would have let him
go. Instead, he volunteered the information that he was a
British officer. All this because one of the militia men wore
a Hessian coat. It never occurred to Andre that the coat
might have been stolen or picked up on the battlefield! But
there was a certain weakness in Andre’s character, a certain
conceit, and the opportunity of presenting himself as a
British officer on important business was too much to pass
up when he met the three nondescript militia men. Perhaps
his personal vanity played a part in this fateful decision;
perhaps he really believed himself to be among troops on
his own side. Whatever the cause of his strange behavior,
he paid with his life for it. Within weeks after the hanging
of Major Andre, the entire Continental Army knew of the
event, the British command was made aware of it, and in a
detailed document Sir Henry Clinton explained what he
had had in mind in case Arnold would have been able to
deliver West Point and its garrison to the British. Thus,
the name Andre became a household word among the
troops of both sides.

* * *

In 1951 I investigated a case of a haunting at the
colonial house belonging to the late New York News colum-
nist Danton Walker. The case was first published, under
the title "The Rockland County Ghost,” in Tomorrow mag-
azine and, later, in Ghost Hunter. Various disturbances had
occurred at the house between 1941 and 1951 that had led
Mr. Walker to believe that he had a poltergeist in his
domicile. The late Eileen Garrett offered to serve as
medium in the investigation, and Dr. Robert Laidlaw, the
eminent psychiatrist, was to meet us at the house to super-
vise the proceedings along with me. Even before Mrs. Gar-
rett set foot in the house, however, she revealed to us the
result of a “traveling clairvoyance” expedition in which she
had seen the entity "hung up” in the house. His name, she
informed us, was Andreas, and she felt that he was
attached to the then owner of the house.

The visit to the house was one of the most dramatic
and perhaps traumatic psychic investigations into haunted
houses I have ever conducted. The house, which has since
changed ownership owing to Mr. Walker’s death, stands
on a hill that was once part of a large farm. During the

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

Revolutionary War, the house served as headquarters for a
detachment of troops on the Revolutionary side. General
Anthony Wayne, known as "Mad” Anthony, had his head-
quarters very near this site, and the Battle of Stony Point
was fought just a few miles away in 1779. The building
served as a fortified roadhouse used for the storage of arms,
ammunitions, food, and at times for the safekeeping of
prisoners.

At the time Danton Walker bought the house, it was
in a sad state of disrepair, but with patience and much
money he restored it to its former appearance. During the
time when the house was being rebuilt, Walker stayed at a
nearby inn but would occasionally take afternoon naps on
an army cot in the upstairs part of his house. On these
occasions he had the distinct impression of the presence of
a Revolutionary soldier in the same room with him. Psy-
chic impressions were nothing new for the late News
columnist; he had lived with them all his life. During the
first two years of his tenancy, Walker did not observe any-
thing further, but by 1944 there had developed audible and
even visible phenomena.

One afternoon, while resting in the front room down-
stairs, he heard a violent knocking at the front door caused
by someone moving the heavy iron knocker. But he found
no one at the front door. Others, including Walker’s man
Johnny, were aroused many times by knocking at the door,
only to find no one there. A worker engaged in the restora-
tion of the house complained about hearing someone with
heavy boots on walking up the stairs in mid-afternoon, at a
time when he was alone in the place. The sound of heavy
footfalls, of someone, probably male, wearing boots, kept
recurring. During the summer of 1952, when Walker had
guests downstairs, everyone heard the heavy thumping
sound of someone falling down the stairs. Other, more tan-
gible phenomena added to the eerie atmosphere of the
place: the unmistakable imprint of a heavy man's thumb
on a thick pewter jar of the seventeenth century, inexplica-
ble on any grounds; the mysterious appearance on a plate
rail eight feet above the kitchen floor of a piece of glass
that had been in the front-door window; pictures tumbling
down from their places in the hallway; and a pewter
pitcher thrown at a woman guest from a bookshelf behind
the bed.

One evening, two Broadway friends of Danton
Walker’s, both of them interested in the occult but not
really believers, came to the house for the weekend. One of
the men, L., a famous Broadway writer, insisted on spend-
ing the night in the haunted bedroom upstairs. An hour
later the pajama-clad guest came down to Walker's little
studio at the other end of the estate, where Walker was
now sleeping because of the disturbances, and demanded
an end to the “silly pranks” he thought someone was play-
ing on him. The light beside his bed was blinking on and
off, while all the other lights in the house were burning
steadily, he explained. Walker sent him back to bed with
an explanation about erratic power supply in the country.

142

A little over an hour later, L, came running back to
Walker and asked to spend the rest of the night in
Walker’s studio.

In the morning he explained the reasons for his
strange behavior: he had been awakened from deep sleep
by the sensation of someone slapping him violently about
the face. Sitting bolt upright in bed, he noticed that the
shirt he had placed on the back of a rocking chair was
being agitated by the breeze. The chair was rocking ever so
gently. It then occurred to L. that there could be no breeze
in the room, since all the windows had been closed!

Many times, Walker had the impression that some-
one was trying desperately to get into the house, as if for
refuge. He recalled that the children of a previous tenant
had spoken of some disturbance near a lilac bush at the
comer of the house. The original crude stone walk from
the road to the house passed by this lilac bush and went on
to the well, which, according to local tradition, had been
used by Revolutionary soldiers.

Our group of investigators reached the house on
November 22, 1952, on a particularly dark day, as if it had
been staged that way. Toward 3 o’clock in the afternoon,
we sat down for a seance in the upstairs bedroom. Within
a matter of seconds, Eileen Garrett had disappeared, so to
speak, from her body, and in her stead was another person.
Sitting upright and speaking in halting tones with a distinct
Indian accent, Uvani, one of Mrs. Garrett’s spirit guides,
addressed us and prepared us for the personality that
would follow him.

“I am confronted myself with a rather restless per-
sonality, a very strange personality, and one that might
appear to be, in his own life, perhaps not quite of the right
mind,” he explained to us. The control personality then
added that he was having difficulty maintaining a calm
atmosphere owing to the great disturbance the entity was
bringing into the house. As the control spoke, the
medium’s hands and legs began to shake. He explained
that she was experiencing the physical condition of the
entity that would soon speak to us, a disease known as
classical palsy. Dr. Laidlaw nodded and asked the entity to
proceed.

A moment later, the body of Eileen Garrett was
occupied by an entirely new personality. Shaking uncon-
trollably, as if in great pain, the entity tried to sit up in the
chair but was unable to maintain balance and eventually
crashed to the floor. There, one of the legs continued to
vibrate violently, which is one of the symptoms of palsy, a
disease in which muscular control is lost. For two minutes
or more, only inarticulate sounds came from the entranced
medium’s lips. Eventually we were able to induce the pos-
sessing entity to speak to us. At first there were only halt-
ing sounds, as if the entity were in great pain. From time
to time the entity touched his leg, and then his head, indi-
cating that those were areas in which he experienced pain.
Dr. Laidlaw assured the personality before us that we had
come as friends and that he could speak with us freely and

without fear. Realizing what we were attempting to convey,
the entity broke into tears, extremely agitated, and at the
same time tried to come close to where Dr. Laidlaw sat.

We could at last understand most of the words. The
entity spoke English, but with a marked Polish accent. The
voice sounded rough, uncouth, not at all like Eileen Gar-
rett’s own.

“Friend... friend... mercy. I know. ..I know...,”
and he pointed in the direction of Danton Walker. As we
pried, gently and patiently, more information came from
the entity on the floor before us. “Stones, stones. . . . Don’t
let them take me. I can’t talk.” With that he pointed to his
head, then to his tongue.

"No stones. You will not be stoned,” Dr. Laidlaw
assured him.

“No beatin’?”

Laidlaw assured the entity that he could talk, and that
we were friends. He then asked what the entity’s name
might be.

"He calls me. I have to get out. I cannot go any fur-
ther. In God’s name, I cannot go any further.”

With that, the entity touched Danton Walker’s
hands. Walker was visibly moved. “I will protect you,” he
said simply.

The entity kept talking about “stones,” and we
assumed that he was talking about stones being thrown at
him. Actually, he was talking about stones under which he
had hidden some documents. But that came later. Mean-
while he pointed at his mouth and said, "Teeth gone,” and
he graphically demonstrated how they had been kicked in.
"Protect me,” the entity said, coming closer to Walker
again. Dr. Laidlaw asked whether he lived here. A violent
gesture was his answer. “No, oh, no. I hide here. Cannot
leave here.”

It appeared that he was hiding from another man and
that he knew the plans, which he had hidden in a faraway
spot. “Where did you hide the plans?” Walker demanded.

“Give me map,” the entity replied, and when Walker
handed him a writing pad and a pen, the entity, using Mrs.
Garrett’s fingers, of course, picked it up as if he were han-
dling a quill. The drawing, despite its unsteady and vacil-
lating lines due to palsy, was nevertheless a valid
representation of where the entity had hidden the papers.
“In your measure, Andreas hid. . .not in the house. . .tim-
ber house, log house. . .under the stones. . .fifteen
stones. . .plans for the whole shifting of men and ammuni-
tions I have for the French. Plans I have to deliver to log
house, right where the sun strikes window. Where sun
strikes the window. . .fifteen stones under in log
house. . .there I have put away plans.”

This was followed by a renewed outburst of fear,
during which the entity begged us not to allow him to be
taken again. After much questioning, the entity told us that
he was in need of protection, that he was Polish and had

Major Andre and the Question of Loyalty

143

come to this country as a young man. He threw his arms
around Walker, saying that he was like a brother to him.
“Gospodin, gospodin,” the entity said, showing his joy at
finding who he thought was his brother again. "Me Andre,
you Hans,” he exclaimed. Walker was somewhat non-
plussed at the idea of being Hans. “My brother” the entity
said, “he killed too. . .1 die. . .big field, battle. Like yester-
day, like yesterday.. .1 lie here. . .English all over. They
are terrible.”

“Were you with the Americans?” Dr. Laidlaw asked.

Apparently the word meant nothing to him. “No, no.
Big word. Republic Protection. The stars in the flag, the
stars in the flag. Republic. . . . They sing.”

“How long have you been hiding in this house?”

“I go away a little, he stays, he talk, he here part of
the time.”

Uvani returned at this point, taking Andreas out of
Eileen’s body, explaining that the Polish youngster had
been a prisoner. Apparently, he had been in other parts of
the country with the French troops. He had been friendly
with various people in the Revolutionary Army, serving as
a jackboot for all types of men, a good servant. But he had-
n’t understood for whom he was working. “He refers to an
Andre.” Uvani went on to say, “with whom he is in con-
tact for some time, and he likes this Andre very much
because of the similar name. . .because he is Andrewski.
There is this similarity to Andre. It is therefore he has
been used, as far as I can see, as a cover-up for this man.
Here then is the confusion. He is caught two or three times
by different people because of his appearance; he is a dead-
ringer, or double. His friend Andre disappears, and he’s
lost and does what he can with this one and that one and
eventually he finds himself in the hands of the British
troops. He is known to have letters and plans, and these he
wants me to tell you were hidden by him due east of where
you now find yourselves, in what he says was a temporary
building of sorts in which were housed different caissons.

In this there is also a rest house for guards. In this type
kitchen he will not reveal the plans and is beaten merci-
lessly. His limbs are broken and he passes out, no longer in
the right mind, but with a curious break on one side of the
body, and his leg is damaged. It would appear that he is
from time to time like one in a coma — he wakes, dreams,
and loses himself again, and I gather from the story that he
is not always aware of people.”

We sat in stunned silence as Uvani explained the
story to us. Then we joined in prayer to release the unfor-
tunate one. To the best of my knowledge, the house has
been free from further disturbances ever since. The papers,
of course, were no longer in their hiding place. French aux-
iliary troops under Rochambeau and Lafayette had been all
over the land, and papers must have gone back and forth
between French detachments and their American allies.
Some of these papers may have been of lesser importance

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

and could have been entrusted even to so simple a man as
Andreas.

The years went by, Danton Walker himself passed
away, and the house changed hands, but the pewter jar
which Danton had entrusted to my care was still in my
hands. Johnny, who had served the late columnist so well
for all those years, refused to take it. To him, it meant that
the ghost might attach himself to him now. Under the cir-
cumstances, I kept the jar and placed it in a showcase in
my home along with many other antiquities and did not
give the matter much thought. But roughly on the twenti-
eth anniversary of the original expedition to the house in
Rockland County, I decided to test two good mediums I
work with, to see whether any of the past secrets clinging
to the pewter might yet be unraveled.

On September 25, 1972, I handed Shawn Robbins a
brown paper bag in which the pewter jar had been placed.
But Shawn could not make contact, so I took out the object
and placed it directly into her hands. “I pick up three ini-
tials and a crest,” she began. "The first thing I see are
these initials, someone’s name, like B.A.R.; then I see a
man with a beard, and he may have been very important.
There is another man, whom I like better, however. They
look Nordic to me, because of the strange helmets they
wear.”

“The person you sense here — is he a civilian or a
soldier?”

“I'm thinking of the word ‘crown.’ There is someone
here who wears a crown; the period is the 1700s, perhaps
the 1600s. The King wore a crown and a white, high neck,
like a ruffled collar, and then armor. That is one of the lay-
ers I get from this object.”

I realized, of course, that the object was already old
when the American Revolution took place. Danton Walker
had acquired it in the course of his collecting activities, and
it had no direct connection with the house itself.

It seemed to me that Shawn was psychometrizing the
object quite properly, getting down to the original layer
when it was first created. The description of a seventeenth-
century English king was indeed quite correct. “The armor
is a rough color, but all in one piece and worn over some-
thing else, some velvet, I think. On his head, there is a
crown, and yet I see him also wearing a hat.” I couldn’t
think of a better description of the way King Charles II
dressed, and the pewter pitcher originated during his reign.

“What are some of the other layers you get?” I asked.

“There is a man here who looks as if he either broke
his neck or was hanged. This man is the strongest influence
I feel with this object. He is bearded and slightly baldish in
front.”

“Stick with him then and try to find out who he
was.”

Shawn gave the object another thorough investigation,
touching it all over with her hands, and then reported, "He
is important in the sense that the object is haunted by him.
He was murdered by a person who had an object in his

144

hand that looks like a scepter to me, but I don’t know what
it is. The man in back of him killed him: he got it in the
back of his neck. The man who killed him is in a position
of power.”

"What about the victim — what was his position?”

“The only initials I pick up are something like Pont,
or perhaps Boef.”

While this did not correspond to Andreas, it seemed
interesting to me that she picked up two French names. I
recalled that the unlucky Polish jackboot had served the
French auxiliaries. "Can you get any country of origin?”

"It is hard to say, but the man who was murdered
had something to do with England. Perhaps the man who
killed him did.”

I then instructed Shawn to put her thumb into the
dent in the wall of the pitcher where the ghostly hand of
Andreas had made a depression. Again, Shawn came up
with the name Boef. Since I wasn’t sure whether she was
picking up the original owner of the pewter pitcher or per-
haps one of its several owners, I asked her to concentrate
on the last owner and the time during which he had had
the object in his house.

“The letter V is an important initial here,” she said,
“and I sense a boat coming up.”

I couldn’t help thinking of the sloop Vulture, which
Major Andre had wanted to use for his getaway but didn’t,
and which saved the life of General Arnold. “Do you feel
any suffering with this object?” I asked.

“Yes,” Shawn replied. "A man was murdered, and a
woman was involved: a woman, an older person, and the
murderer; this was premeditated murder. The victim is a
good-looking man, not too old, with a moustache or beard,
and it looks as if they are taking something away from him
which is part of him, something that belonged to him.”

“Was it something he had on his person?”

“When he was murdered, he didn't have it on him,
and it is still buried somewhere," Shawn replied.

Shawn, of course, had no idea that there was a con-
nection between the object she was psychometrizing and
the Rockland County Ghost, which I had written about in
the 1960s. "What is buried?” I asked, becoming more
intrigued by her testimony as the minutes rolled by.

“There is something he owns that is buried some-
where, and I think it goes back to a castle or house. It is
not buried inside but outside. It is buried near a grave, and
whoever buried it was very smart.”

"Why was he killed?” I asked.

"I see him, and then another man, besides, who is
involved. He was murdered because he was a friend of this
man and his cause. They are wearing something funny on
their heads. One of them is holding up his two hands, with
an object with a face on it, a very peculiar thing.”

"Can you tell me where the object he buried is
located?”

“I can’t describe it unless I can draw it. Give me a
pencil. There is the initial 'A’ here.”

“Who is this ‘A’?”

“‘K’ would be another initial of importance. This is
the hat they are wearing.”

Shawn then drew what looked to me like the rough outlines
of a fur-braided hat, the kind soldiers in the late eighteenth
century would wear in the winter. The initial “A” of
course startled me, since it might belong to Andreas. The
"K” I thought might refer to Kosciuszko, the leader of the
Polish auxiliary forces in America during the Revolutionary
War, who wore fur hats. "The hat is part metal, but there
is a red feather on it, actually red and green,” she said.

The colors were quite correct for the period involved.

“This man is in love with an older woman; he is a
very good looking fellow. This is how he looks to me.”
Shawn drew a rough portrait of a man in the wig and short
tie of an eighteenth-century gentleman. She then drew the
woman also, and mentioned that she wore a flower or some
sort of emblem. It reminded her of a flower or a crest and
was important. "It is a crude way of saying something, and
the letters V.A.R. come in here also. A crest with V.A.R.
across it,” Shawn said.

"Tell me Shawn,” I said, steering her in a somewhat
different direction, "has there ever been any psychic mani-
festation associated with this object?”

“Somebody’s heavy footsteps are associated with this.
Things would move in a house. By themselves.”

“Is there any entity attached to this object?”

“I want to say the name Victor. ” Was she getting
Walker?

As I questioned Shawn further about the object, it
became increasingly clear that she was speaking of the
period when it was first made. She described, in vivid
words, the colors and special designs on the uniforms of
the men who were involved with the object. All of it fit the
middle or late seventeenth century but obviously had noth-
ing to do with the Revolutionary War. I was not surprised,
since I had already assumed that some earlier layer would
be quite strong. But then she mentioned a boat and
remarked that it was going up a river. “I must be way off
on this,” Shawn said, somewhat disappointed, "because I
see a windmill.”

The matter became interesting again. I asked her
what became of “A.” "There are three or four men in the
boat,” Shawn said. “They are transporting someone, and I
think it is ‘A’ on his way to his execution.”

“What did he do?”

“He didn’t do anything — that is the sad part of it.

He was just a victim of circumstances. He is an innocent
victim.”

“Who did his captors think he was?”

*Richard Varick, of noble Dutch descent, became Aide-de-Camp to
General Arnold in August 1780, six weeks prior to the treason. He
was not involved in it, however.

Major Andre and the Question of Loyalty

145

"An important person.”

“Did this important person commit a crime or did he
have something they wanted?”

“He had nothing on him, but the initials K.A.E. A.
are of importance here. That is an important name. But
they have the wrong man. But they kill him anyway. There
is a design on his cloak, which looks to me like the astro-
logical Cancer symbol, like the crab.”

“What happens further on?”

“They are leaving the windmill now. But something
is going to happen because they are headed that way.

Other people are going to die because of this. Many.”
Without my telling her to, Shawn touched the object again.
“I feel the period when Marie Antoinette lived. I have the
feeling they are going off in that direction. They are going
to France. There is a general here, and I get the initials
L.A.M. He, too, was killed in the war.”

“But why is A’ brought to this general?”

“Well, A’ looks to me as if he had changed clothes,
and now he wears black with a little piece of white here.
They are obviously conferring about something. A is con-
ferring with someone else. It doesn’t look like someone in
the military, and he is hard to describe, but I never saw a
uniform like this before. He has on a beret and a medal.”

“What about A? Is he a civilian or an officer?”

"Truthfully, he is really an officer. I think this is
what the whole thing is all about. I think they captured
someone really important. He probably was an officer in
disguise, not wearing the right coloring. It is treason, what
else? Could he have sold papers, you know, secrets?”

Shawn felt now that she had gotten as much as she
could from the object. I found her testimony intriguing, to
say the least. There were elements of the Andre story in it,
and traces of Andreas’s life as well. Just as confusing, it
seemed to me, as the mistaken-identity problems which
had caused Andreas’ downfall. All this time, Shawn had no
idea that Major Andre was involved in my investigation,
no idea of what the experiment was all about. As far as she
was concerned, she had been asked to psychometrize an old
pewter jar, and nothing else.

On October 3, 1972, 1 repeated the experiment with
Ethel Johnson Meyers. Again, the pitcher was in the brown
paper bag. Again, the medium requested to hold it directly
in her hands. “I see three women and a man with heavy
features,” she began immediately. “Something is going on,
but the language doesn’t sound English. Now there is a
man here who is hurt, blood running from his left eye.”

“How did he get hurt?”

“There are some violent vibrations here. I hear loud
talking, and I feel as if he had been hit with this pitcher.

He has on a waistcoat or brown jacket, either plush or vel-

*General John Lamb was sent by General Washington on September
25, 1780, to secure Kings Ferry on the eve of Arnold's treason.

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

veteen, and a wide collar. Black stockings and purple shoes.
Knickers that go down to here, and of the same material as
the coat.”

“Can you pinpoint the period?”

"I would guess around the time of Napoleon,” Ethel
said, not altogether sure. That too was interesting since she
obviously wasn't judging the jar (which was far older than
the Napoleonic period) by its appearance. As far as the
Major Andre incident was concerned, she was about
twenty years off. “I am hearing German spoken,” Ethel
continued. “I think this object has seen death and horror,
and I hear violence and screams. There is the feeling of
murder, and a woman is involved. I hear a groan, and now
there is more blood. I feel there is also a gash on the neck.
Once in a while, I hear an English word spoken with a
strange accent. I hear the name Mary, and I think this is at
least the seventeenth century.”

I realized that she was speaking of the early history of
the object, and I directed her to tune in on some later
vibrations. “Has this object ever been in the presence of a
murder?” I asked directly.

“This man’s fate is undeserved. He has been crossing
over from a far distance into a territory where he is not
wanted by many, and he is not worthy of that protection
which he has. He has not deserved this; he has no political
leanings; he has not offended anyone purposely. His pres-
ence is unwanted. God in heaven knows that.”

It sounded more and more the way Andreas spoke
when Eileen Garrett was his instrument. Protection! That
was the word he kept repeating, more than any other word,
protection from those who would do him injustice and hurt
him.

"What nationality is he?”

“It sounds Italian.”

“What name does he give you?”

“Rey...Rey.t .. .Man betrayed.” Ethel was sinking
now into a state of semi-trance, and I noticed some pecu-
liar facial changes coming over her; it was almost as if the
entity were directing her answers.

“Betrayed by whom?” I asked, bending over to hear
every word.

“The ones that make me feel safe."

“Who are they?”

“Bloody Englishmen.”

“Who are your friends?”

"I’m getting away from English.”

“Is there something this person has that someone else
wants?”

“Yes, that is how it is.”

“Who is this person to whom all these terrible things
are happening.”

“Coming over. A scapegoat.”

Again, Ethel managed to touch both the earlier layer
and the involvement with the Revolutionary period, but in

^AndR Eas?

146

a confusing and intertwined manner which made it difficult
for me to sort out what she was telling me. Still, there were
elements that were quite true and which she could not have
known, since she, like Shawn, had no idea what the object
was or why I was asking her to psychometrize it. It was
clear to me that no ghostly entity had attached to the
object, however, and that whatever the two mediums had
felt was in the past. A little lighter in my heart, I replaced
the object in my showcase, hoping that it would in time
acquire some less violent vibrations from the surrounding
objects.

As for Andreas and Andre, one had a brief moment
in the limelight, thanks chiefly to psychical research, while
the other is still a major figure in both American and
British history. After his execution on October 2, 1780, at
Tappan, Andre was buried at the foot of the gallows. In
1821 his body was exhumed and taken to England and
reburied at Westminster Abbey. By 1880 tempers had suf-
ficiently cooled and British- American friendship was firmly
enough established to permit the erection of a monument
to the event on the spot where the three militia men had
come across Major Andre. Actually, the monument itself
was built in 1853, but on the occasion of the centennial of
Andre’s capture, a statue and bronze plaque were added

and the monument surrounded with a protective metal
fence. It stands near a major road and can easily be
observed when passing by car. It is a beautiful monument,
worthy of the occasion. There is only one thing wrong with
it, be it ever so slight: It stands at the wrong spot. My good
friend, Elliott Schryver, the eminent editor and scholar,
pointed out the actual spot at some distance to the east.

In studying Harry Hansen’s book on the area, I have
the impression that he shares this view. In order to make a
test of my own, we stopped by the present monument, and
I asked Ingrid to tell me what she felt. I had purposely told
her that the spot had no direct connection with anything
else we were doing that day, so she could not consciously
sense what the meaning of our brief stop was. Walking
around the monument two or three times, touching it, and
“taking in” the atmosphere psychically, she finally came up
to me, shook her head, and said, “I am sorry, Hans, there
is absolutely nothing here. Nothing at all.”

But why not? If the Revolutionary taverns can be
moved a considerable distance to make them more accessi-
ble to tourists, why shouldn’t a monument be erected
where everyone can see it instead of in some thicket where
a prospective visitor might break a leg trying to find it?
Nobody cares, least of all Major Andre.

# 16

Benedict Arnold’s Friend

“I WAS COMPLETELY FASCINATED by your recent book,”
read a letter by Gustav j. Kramer of Claverack, New York.
Mr. Kramer, it developed, was one of the leading lights of
the Chamber of Commerce in the town of Hudson and
wrote a column for the Hudson Register-Star on the side.
"During the past three years I have specialized in writing
so-called ghost stories for my column,” he explained. "We
have a number of haunted houses in this historic section of
the Hudson Valley. President Martin Van Buren’s home is
nearby and is honestly reputed to be the scene of some
highly disturbing influences. Aaron Burr, the killer of
Alexander Hamilton, hid out in a secret room of this estate
and has reliably been reported to have been seen on
numerous occasions wandering through the upper halls.”

This was in 1963, and I had not yet investigated the
phenomena at Aaron Burr’s stables in lower Manhattan at
the time. Perhaps what people saw in the house was an
imprint of Burr’s thought forms.

From this initial letter developed a lively correspon-
dence between us, and for nearly two years I promised to
come to the Hudson Valley and do some investigating,
provided that Mr. Kramer came up with something more
substantial than hearsay.

It wasn’t until July 1965 that he came up with what
he considered “the house.” He explained that it had a cold
spot in it and that the owner, a Mrs. Dorothea Connacher,
a teacher by profession, was a quiet and reserved lady who
had actually had a visual experience in the attic of this very
old house.

My brother-in-law’s untimely and unexpected death
postponed our journey once again, so we — meaning Ethel
Johnson Meyers, the medium, my wife Catherine, and I —
weren’t ready to proceed to Columbia County, New York,
until early February 1966. GHOST HUNTER VISITS HUD-
SON, Gus Kramer headlined in his column. He met us at
the exit from the Taconic Parkway and took us to lunch
before proceeding further.

It was early afternoon when we arrived at Mrs. Con-
nacher’s house, which was situated a few minutes away on
a dirt road, standing on a fair-sized piece of land and sur-
rounded by tall, old trees. Because of its isolation, one had
the feeling of being far out in the country, when in fact the
thru way connecting New York with Albany passes a mere
ten minutes away. The house is gleaming white, or nearly
so, for the ravages of time have taken their toll. Mr. and
Mrs. Connacher bought it twenty years prior to our visit,
but after divorcing Mr. Connacher, she was unable to keep
it up as it should have been, and gradually the interior
especially fell into a state of disrepair. The outside still

Benedict Arnold’s Friend

147

showed its noble past, those typically colonial manor house
traits, such as the columned entrance, the Grecian influence
in the construction of the roof, and the beautiful colonial
shutters.

New York State in the dead of winter is a cold place
indeed. As we rounded the curve of the dirt road and saw
the manor house looming at the end of a short carriage
way, we wondered how the lady of the house was able to
heat it. After we were inside, we realized she had difficul-
ties in that respect.

For the moment, however, I halted a few yards away
from the house and took some photographs of this visually
exciting old house. Ethel Johnson Meyers knew nothing
about the house or why we were there. In fact, part of our
expedition was for the purpose of finding a country home
to live in. Ethel thought we were taking her along to serve
as consultant in the purchase of a house, since she herself
owns a country home and knows a great deal about houses.
Of course, she knew that there were a couple of interesting
places en route, but she took that for granted, having
worked with me for many years. Even while we were
rounding the last bend and the house became visible to
us, Ethel started getting her first impressions of the case.

I asked her to remain seated in the car and to tell me
about it.

“I see two people, possibly a third. The third person
is young, a woman with a short, rather upturned nose and
large eyes, but she seems to be dimmer than the impres-
sion of the men. The men are very strong. One of them
has a similar upturned nose and dark skin. He wears a
white wig. There is also an older woman. She seems to
look at me as if she wants to say, Why are you staring at
me that way?” Ethel explained to the spirit in an earnest
tone of voice why she had come to the house, that she
meant no harm and had come as a friend, and if there were
anything she could do for them, they should tell her.

While this one-sided conversation was going on,
Catherine and I sat in the car, waiting for it to end. Gus
Kramer had gone ahead to announce our arrival to Mrs.
Connacher.

“What sort of clothing is the woman wearing — I
mean the older woman?” I asked.

“She’s got on some kind of a white dusting cap,”

Ethel replied, “and her hair is sticking out.”

“Can you tell what period they are from?”

“He wears a wig, and she has some sort of kerchief,
wide at the shoulders and pointed in back. The blouse of
her dress fits tight. The dress goes down to the floor, as far
as I can see. The bottom of the dress is ruffled. I should
say she is a woman in her sixties, perhaps even older."

“What about the man?"

“I think one of the women could be his daughter,
because the noses are alike, sort of pug noses.”

“Do you get any names or initials?”

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

“The letter ‘B’ is important.”

“Do you get any other people?”

“There is a woman with dark hair parted in the mid-
dle, and there is a man with a strange hat on his head.

Then there is someone with an even stranger hat, octagonal
in shape and very high. I’ve never seen a hat like that
before. There is something about a B.A. A Bachelor of
Arts? Now I pick up the name Ben. I am sorry, but I don't
think I can do any more outside.”

“In that case,” I said, “let us continue inside the
house.” But I asked Ethel to wait in the car while I inter-
viewed the owner of the house. Afterward, she was to come
in and try trance.

Mrs. Dorothea Connacher turned out to be a smallish
lady in her later years, and the room we entered first gave
the impression of a small, romantic jumble shop. Antiqui-
ties, old furniture, a small new stove so necessary on this
day, pictures on the walls, books on shelves, and all of it in
somewhat less than perfect order made it plain that Mrs.
Connacher wasn’t quite able to keep up with the times, or
rather that the house demanded more work than one per-
son could possibly manage. Mrs. Connacher currently lived
there with her son, Richmond, age thirty-six. Her husband
had left three years after she had moved into the house. I
asked her about any psychic experiences she might have
had.

“Both my husband and I are freelance artists,” she
began, “and my husband used to go to New York to work
three days a week, and the rest of the time he worked at
home. One day shortly after we had moved in, I was alone
in the house. That night I had a dream that my husband
would leave me. At the time I was so happy I couldn’t
understand how this could happen.”

The dream became reality a short time later. It
wasn’t the only prophetic dream Mrs. Connacher had. On
previous occasions she had had dreams concerning dead
relatives and various telepathic experiences.

“What about the house? When did it start here?”

“We were in the house for about five months. We
had been told that everything belonging to the former own-
ers had been taken out of the house — there had been an
auction, and these things had been sold. There really
wasn’t anything up in the attic, so we were told. My hus-
band and I had been up a couple of times to explore it.

We were fascinated by the old beams, with their wooden
pegs dating back to the eighteenth century. There was
nothing up there except some old picture frames and a
large trunk. It is still up there.

“Well, finally we became curious and opened it, and
there were a lot of things in it. It seemed there were little
pieces of material all tied up in bundles. But we didn’t look
too closely; I decided to come up there some day when I
had the time to investigate by myself. My husband said he
was too busy right then and wanted to go down.

“A few days later, when I was home alone, I decided
to go upstairs again and look through the trunk. The attic

148

is rather large, and there are only two very small windows
in the far corner. I opened the trunk, put my hands into it,
and took out these little pieces of material, but in order to
see better I took them to the windows. When I got to the
bottom of the trunk, I found a little waistcoat, a hat, and a
peculiar bonnet, the kind that was worn before 1800. 1
thought, what a small person this must have been who
could have worn this! At first I thought it might have been
for a child; but no, it was cut for an adult, although a very
tiny person.”

As Mrs. Connacher was standing there, fascinated by
the material, she became aware of a pinpoint of light out of
the corner of her eye. Her first thought was, I must tell Jim
that there is a hole in the roof where this light is coming
through. But she kept looking and, being preoccupied with
the material in the trunk, paid no attention to the light.
Something, however, made her look up, and she noticed
that the light had now become substantially larger. Also, it
was coming nearer, changing its position all the time. The
phenomenon began to fascinate her. She wasn’t thinking of
ghosts or psychic phenomena at all, merely wondering
what this was all about. As the light came nearer and
nearer, she suddenly thought, why, that looks like a human
figure!

Eventually, it stopped near the trunk, and Mrs. Con-
nacher realize it was a human figure, the figure of an
elderly lady. She was unusually small and delicate and wore
the very bonnet Mrs. Connacher had discovered at the bot-
tom of the trunk! The woman’s clothes seemed gray, and
Mrs. Connacher noticed the apron the woman was wearing.
As she watched the ghostly apparition in fascinated horror,
the little lady used her apron in a movement that is gener-
ally used in the country to shoo away chickens. However,
the motion was directed against her, as if the apparition
wanted to shoo her away from “her” trunk!

"I was frightened. I saw the bonnet and the apron
and this woman shooing me away, and she seemed com-
pletely solid,” Mrs. Connacher said.

“What did you do?”

"I walked around in back of the trunk to see whether
she was still there. She was. I said, all right, all right. But I
didn’t want to look at her. I could feel my hair stand up
and decided to go down. I was worried I might fall down
the stairs, but I made it all right.”

“Did you ever see her again?”

"No. But there were all sorts of unusual noises. Once
my husband and I were about to go off to sleep when it
sounded as if someone had taken a baseball bat and hit the
wall with it right over our heads; That was in the upstairs
bedroom. The spot isn’t too far from the attic, next to the
staircase.”

“Have other people had experiences here?”

“Well, my sister Clair had a dream about the house
before she had been here. When she came here for the first
time she said she wanted to see the attic. I was surprised,
for I had not even told her that there was an attic. She

rushed right upstairs, but when she saw it, she turned
around, and her face was white; it was exactly what she
had seen in her dream. Then there was this carpenter who
had worked for me repairing the attic and doing other
chores on the property. After he came down from the attic,
he left and hasn’t been back since. No matter how often I
ask him to come and do some work for me, he never shows
up.”

“Maybe the little old lady shooed him away too,” I
said. “What about those cold spots Gus has been telling
me about?”

“I only have a fireplace and this small heater here.
Sometimes you just can’t get the room warm. But there are
certain spots in the house that are always cold. Even in the
summertime people ask whether we have air conditioning.”

"When was the house built?”

"One part has the date 1837 engraved in the stone
downstairs. The older part goes back two hundred years.”

“Did any of the previous owners say anything about
a ghost?”

"No. Before us were the Turners, and before them
the Link family owned it for a very long time. But we
never talked about such things.”

I then questioned Gus Kramer about the house and
about his initial discussions with Mrs. Connacher. It is not
uncommon for a witness to have a better memory immedi-
ately upon telling of an experience than at a later date
when the story has been told and told again. Sometimes it
becomes embroidered by additional, invented details, but at
other times it loses some of its detail because the storyteller
no longer cares or has forgotten what was said under the
immediate impression of the experience itself.

"Mrs. Connacher was holding an old, musty woman’s
blouse at the time when the apparition appeared,” Gus
said. “At the time she felt that there was a connection
between her holding this piece of clothing and her
sighting.”

"Have you yourself ever experienced anything in the
Connacher house?”

“Well, the last time I visited here, we were sitting in
the dim, cluttered living room, when I noticed the dog fol-
low an imaginary something with his eyes from one bed-
room door to the door that leads to the attic, where Mrs.
Connacher ’s experience took place. He then lay down with
his head between his paws and his eyes fastened on the
attic door. I understand he does this often and very fre-
quently fastens his gaze on ‘something’ behind Mrs. Con-
nacher’s favorite easy chair when she is in it. I assure you,
the hairs on the back of my neck stood up like brush bris-
tles while watching that dog.”

I decided to get Ethel out of the car, which by now
must have become a cold spot of its own. "Ethel,” I said,
“you are standing in the living room of this house now.
There is another story above this one and there is an attic.

Benedict Arnold’s Friend

149

I want you to tell me if there is any presence in this house
and, if so, what area you feel is most affected.

“The top,” Ethel replied, without a moment’s
hesitation.

“Is there a presence there?”

“Yes,” Ethel said firmly. We had stepped into the
next room, where there was a large, comfortable easy chair.

I tried to get Ethel to sit down in it, but she hesitated.

“No, I want to go somewhere.” I had the distinct impres-
sion that she was gradually falling into trance, and I
wanted her in a safe chair when the trance took hold.
Memories of an entranced Ethel being manipulated by an
unruly ghost were too fresh in my mind to permit such
chance-taking. I managed to get her back into the chair all
right. A moment later, a friendly voice spoke, saying,
“Albert, Albert,” and I realized that Ethel’s control had
taken over. But it was a very brief visit. A moment later, a
totally different voice came from the medium’s entranced
lips. At first, I could not understand the words. There was
something about a wall. Then a cheery voice broke
through. “Who are you, and what the hell are you doing
here?”

When you are a psychic investigator, you sometimes
answer a question with another question. In this case, I
demanded to know who was speaking. “Loyal, loyal,” the
stranger replied. I assured “him” that we had come as
friends and that he — for it sounded like a man — could
safely converse with us. “Will you speak to me then?” he
asked.

“Can I help you?” I replied.

"Well, I’ll help others; they need help.”

"Is this your house? Who are you?” But the stranger
wouldn’t identify himself just yet. “Why were you brought
in? Who brought you here?”

“My house, yes. My house, my house.”

“What is your name, please?” I asked routinely.
Immediately, I felt resistance.

"What is that to you, sir?”

I explained that I wanted to introduce myself
properly.

“I’m loyal, loyal,” the voice assured me.

"Loyal to whom, may I ask?”

“His Majesty, sir; do you know that George?”

I asked in which capacity the entity was serving His
Majesty. “Who are you? You ask for help. Help for what?”

We weren’t getting anywhere, it seemed to me. But
these things take time, and I have a lot of patience.

“Can you tell me who you are?”

Instead, the stranger became more urgent. “When is
he coming, when is he coming? When is he coming to help
me?”

“Whom do you expect?” I replied. I tried to assure
him that whomever he was expecting would arrive soon, at

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

the same time attempting to find out whom he was talking
about. This, of course, put him on his guard.

“I don’t say anymore."

Again I asked that he identify himself so I could
address him by his proper name and rank.

“You are not loyal, you, you, who are in my house?”

“Well, I was told you needed help.”

But the entity refused to give his name. “I fear.”

“There is no need to fear. I am a friend. You are
making it very difficult for me. I am afraid I cannot stay
unless you — ” I hinted.

“When will he come? When will he come?”

“Who are you waiting for?”

“Horatio. Horatio Gates. Where is he? Tell me, I am
a loyal subject. Where is he? Tell me.”

"Well, if you are loyal, you will identify yourself.

You have to identify yourself before I can be of any service
to you.”

Instead, the entity broke into bitter laughter. “My
name, ha ha ha. Trap! Trap!”

I assured him it was no trap. “You know me, you
do,” he said. I assured him that I didn’t. “You know me if
you come here, ha ha ha.”

I decided to try a different tack. “What year are we

in?”

This didn’t go down well with him either. “Madman,
madman. Year, year. You’re not of this house. Go.”

“Look,” I said, “we’ve come a long distance to speak
with you. You’ve got to be cooperative if we are going to
help you.” But the stranger insisted, and repeated the ques-
tion: When will he come? I started to explain that “he”
wouldn’t come at all, that a lot of time had gone by and
that the entity had been “asleep.”

Now it was the entity’s turn to ask who I was. But
before I could tell him again, he cried out, “Ben, where are
you?” I wanted to know who Ben was, at the same time
assuring him that much time had passed and that the
house had changed hands. But it didn’t seem to make any
impression on him. “Where is he? Are you he? Is that you?
Speak to me!”

I decided to play along to get some more information.
But he realized right away that I was not the one he was
expecting. “You are not he, are you he? I can’t hang by my
throat. I will not hang by my throat. No, no, no.”

“Nobody’s threatening you. Have you done anything
that you fear?”

“My own Lord God knows that I am innocent. If I
have a chance. Why, why, why?”

“Who is threatening you? Tell me. I’m on your
side."

“But you will get me.”

“I’ve come to help you. This is your house, is it not?
What is your name? You have to identify yourself so that I
know that I haven’t made a mistake,” I said, pleading with
him. All the time this was going on, Gus Kramer, Mrs.
Connacher, and my wife watched in fascinated silence.

150

Ethel looked like an old man now, not at all like her own
self. There was a moment of hesitation, a pause. Then the
voice spoke again, this time, it seemed to me, in a softer
vein.

“Let me be called Anthony.”

“Anthony what?"

“Where is he? I wait. I’ve got to kill him.” I
explained how it was possible for him to speak to us in our
time. But it seemed to make no impression on him. "He
was here. He was here. I know it.”

“Who was here?” I asked, and repeated that he had
to identify himself.

“But I may go?” There was a sense of urgency in his
voice.

“Would you like to leave this house?”

“My house, why my house? To hang here. My
daughter, she may go with you.”

“What is your daughter’s name?”

“Where you lead, I go, she says. But she too will
hang here if I do not go. She too. God take me, you will
take me.”

I assured him that he could leave the house safely
and need not return again. “You will be safe. You’ll see
your daughter again. But you must understand, there is no
more war. No more killing.”

"She died right here, my sweet daughter, she died
right here."

“What happened to you after that?”

“I sit here; you see me. I sit here. I will go.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m not so old that I can't go from here, where the
fields are fertile, and oh! no blood.”

“Where would you like to go from here?”

“Far away. Sweet Jennie died. Take me from here.

He does not come.”

"I promise to take you. Just be calm.”

“Oh, Horatio, Horatio, you have promised. Why did
he come instead of you, Horatio?”

“Did you serve under Horatio Gates?”

“Arnold, are you he? No.”

“If you’re looking for Arnold, he’s dead.”

“You lie.”

Again, I explained, tactfully, about the passage of
time. But he would hear none of it.

“You lie to me. He will come. You lie.”

“No,” I replied. “It is true. Arnold is dead.”

"Why? Why, why, why? He is gone, is he?”

"Is your name Anthony?”

Eagerly he replied: “Oh, yes, it is. They don’t want
me to go from here, but I must go, they’ll hang me. Don’t
let them hang me.” I assured him that I wouldn’t. “My
daughter, my sweet child. Oh why, because we swear alle-
giance to. . .Now I hang here. They will come to get me;
they will come. Where is he? He has forsaken me.”

“A lot of time has gone by. You have passed on.”

“No. Madness. John, John, help me. Come quick.”

I informed the entity that he was speaking through a
female instrument, and to touch his instrument’s hair. That
way, he would be convinced that it wasn’t his own body he
was in at present.

“John, John, where are you? I’m dreaming.”

I assured him that he wasn't dreaming, and that I
was speaking the truth.

“I am mad, I am mad.”

I assured him that he was sane.

“They hold me. Oh, Jesus Christ!”

I began the usual rescue-circle procedure, explaining
that by wanting to be with his daughter, who had gone on
before him, he could leave this house where his tragedy
had kept him. “Go from this house. You are free to join
your daughter. Go in peace; we’ll pray for you. There is
nothing to fear.” A moment later, the entity was gone and
Albert had returned to Ethel Meyers’s body.

Usually, I question Albert, the control personality,
concerning any entity that has been permitted to speak
through Ethel Meyers’ instrumentality. Sometimes addi-
tional information or the previous information in more
detailed and clarified form emerges from these discussions.
But Albert explained that he could not give me the man’s
name. “He gives false names. As far as we can judge here,
he believes he was hanged. He was a Loyalist, refusing to
take refuge with Americans. He didn’t pose as a Revolu-
tionary until the very end, when he thought he could be
saved.” Albert explained that this had taken place in this
house during the Revolutionary War.

“Why does he think he was hanged? Was he?”

“I don’t see this happening in this house. I believe he
was taken from here, yes.”

“What about other entities in this house?”

“There have been those locked in secret here, who
have had reason to be here. They are all still around.

There is a woman who died and who used to occupy this
part of the house and up to the next floor. Above, I think I
hear those others who have been wounded and secreted
here.”

I asked Albert if he could tell us anything further
about the woman who had been seen in the house. “I
remember I showed this to my instrument before. She was
wearing a white, French-like kerchief hat with lace and lit-
tle black ribbons. There are two women, but one is the
mother to this individual here. I am talking about the older
woman.”

“Why is she earthbound?”

“Because she passed here and remained simply
because she wanted to watch her husband’s struggles to
save himself from being dishonored and discredited. Her
husband is the one who was speaking to you.”

“Can you get anything about the family?"

“They have been in this country for some time, and
they are Loyalists.”

Benedict Arnold’s Friend

151

“Why is the woman up there in the attic and not
down here in the rest of the house?”

"She comes down, but she stays above, for she passed
there.”

“Do you get her name?”

“Elsa, or Elva.”

“Is she willing to speak to us?”

"I can try, but she is a belligerent person. You see,
she keeps reliving her last days on earth, and then the
hauntings in her own house, while her husband and daugh-
ter were still living here. Sometimes they clash one with the
other.”

“What about the other woman? Can you find out
anything about her?

“I can describe her, but I can’t make her speak. She
has dark hair parted in the middle and an oval face, and
she wears a high-necked dress of a dark color. Black with
long sleeves, I think. However, I feel she is from a later
period.”

“Why is she earthbound in the house?”

"She had been extremely psychic when she lived
here, and she has been bothered by these other ghosts that
were here before her. Her name was Drew. Perhaps
Andrew, although I rather think Drew was the family
name. She died in this house. There was a man who went
before her. A curse had been put on her by a woman who
was here before her. It was a ghostly kind of quarrel
between the two women. One was angry that she should be
here, and the other was angry because she owned the house
and found it invaded by those unwanted 'guests,' as she
called them.”

I asked Albert to make sure that the house was now
“clean” and to bring Ethel back to her own self. “I will not
need to take the woman by the hand,” he explained. “She
will go away with her husband, now that he has decided to
leave for fear they will hang him.” With that, I thanked
Albert for his help, and Ethel returned to herself a few
moments later, remembering nothing of what had tran-
spired, as is usual with her when she is in deep trance.

We had not yet been to the upper part of the house.
Even though Ethel would normally be quite tired after a
trance session, I decided to have a look at the second story
and the attic. Ethel saw a number of people in the upper
part of the house, both presences and psychometric impres-
sions from the past. I felt reasonably sure that the dis-
turbed gentleman who had called himself Anthony was
gone from the house, as was his daughter. There remained
the question of the other woman, the older individual who
had frightened Mrs. Connacher. “I see what looks like a
small boy,” Ethel suddenly exclaimed as we were standing
in the attic. “I rather think it is a woman, a short woman.”

“Describe her, please.”

"She seems to wear a funny sort of white cap. Her
outfit is pinkish gray, with a white handkerchief over her

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

shoulders going down into her belt. She looks like a girl
and is very small, but she is an older woman,
nevertheless."

En route to another house at Hudson, New York, I
asked Gus Kramer to comment. "Benedict Arnold was
brought to this area after the battle of Saratoga to recuper-
ate for one or two nights,” Kramer explained, and I
reminded myself that General Arnold, long before he
turned traitor to the American cause, had been a very suc-
cessful field commander and administrative officer on the
side of the Revolution. “He spent the night in the Kinder -
hook area,” Gus continued. “The location of the house
itself is not definitely known, but it is known that he spent
the night here. Horatio Gates, who was the American
leader in the battle of Saratoga, also spent several nights in
the immediate area. It is not inconceivable that this place,
which was a mansion in those days, might have entertained
these men at the time."

“What about the hanging?”

“Seven Tories were hanged in this area during the
Revolutionary War. Some of the greatest fighting took
place here, and it is quite conceivable that something took
place at this old mansion. Again, it completely bears out
what Mrs. Meyers spoke of while in trance.”

I asked Gus to pinpoint the period for me. “This
would have been in 1777, toward October and November."

“What about that cold spot in the house?”

"Outside of the owner,” Gus replied, “there was an
artist named Stanley Bate, who visited the house and com-
plained about an unusually cold spot. There was one par-
ticular room that was known as the Sick Room; we have
found out from a later investigation that it is one of the
bedrooms upstairs. It was used for mortally sick people,
when they became so ill that they had to be brought to this
bedroom, and eventually several of them died in it. You
couldn’t notice it today, because the whole house was so
cold, but we have noticed a difference of at least twenty-
five to thirty degrees in the temperature between that room
and the surrounding part of the house. This cannot be
attributed to drafts or open windows.”

“Did your artist friend who visited the house experi-
ence anything else besides the cold spot?”

"Yes, he had a very vivid impression of someone
charging at him several times. There was a distinct tugging
on his shirt sleeve. This was about two years ago, and
though he knew that the house was haunted, he had not
heard about the apparition Mrs. Connacher had seen.”

It appeared to me that the entity, Anthony, or what-
ever his name might have been, had pretty good connec-
tions on both sides of the Revolutionary War. He was in
trouble, that much was clear. In his difficulty, he turned to
Benedict Arnold, and he turned to General Horatio Gates,
both American leaders. He also cried out to John to save
him, and I can’t help wondering, common though the
name is, whether he might not also have known major
John Andre.

152

» 17

The Haverstraw Ferry Case

HAVERSTRAW IS A SLEEPY little town about an hour’s ride
from New York City, perched high on the west side of the
Hudson River. As its name implies, it was originally set-
tled by the Dutch. On the other side of the river, not far
away, was Colonel Beverley Robinson’s house, where Bene-
dict Arnold made his headquarters. The house burned
down some years ago, and today there are only a few
charred remnants to be seen on the grounds. At Haver-
straw also was the house of Joshua Smith, the man who
helped Major John Andre escape, having been entrusted
with the British spy’s care by his friend, Benedict Arnold.
At Haverstraw, too, was one of the major ferries to cross
the Hudson River, for during the Revolutionary period
there were as yet no bridges to go from one side to the
other.

I had never given Haverstraw any particular thought,
although I had passed through it many times on my way
upstate. In August 1966 I received a letter from a gentle-
man named Jonathan Davis, who had read some of my
books and wanted to let me in on an interesting case he
thought worthy of investigation. The house in question
stands directly on the river, overlooking the Hudson and,
as he put it, practically in the shadow of High Tor. Includ-
ing the basement there are four floors in all. But rather
than give me the information secondhand, he suggested to
the owner, a friend, that she communicate with me
directly. The owner turned out to be Laurette Brown, an
editor of a national women’s magazine in New York City.

“I believe my house is haunted by one or possibly
two ghosts: a beautiful thirty -year-old woman and her two-
year-old daughter, ’ she explained. Miss Brown had shared
the house with another career woman, Kaye S., since Octo-
ber 1965. Kaye, a lovely blonde woman who came from a
prominent family, was extremely intelligent and very cre-
ative. She adored the house overlooking the river, which
the two women had bought on her instigation. Strangely,
though, Kaye frequently said she would never leave it
again alive. A short a time later, allegedly because of an
unhappy love affair, she drove her car to Newburgh, rigged
up the exhaust pipe, and committed suicide along with the
child she had had by her second husband.

“After she died, and I lived here alone, I was terribly
conscious of a spirit trying to communicate with me,” Miss
Brown explained. "There was a presence, there were unnat-
ural bangings of doors and mysterious noises, but I denied
them. At the time, I wanted no part of the so-called super-
natural. Since then, Miss Brown has had second thoughts
about the matter, especially as the phenomena continued.
She began to wonder whether the restless spirit wanted
something from her, whether there was something she
could do for the spirit. One day, her friend Jonathan Davis
was visiting and mentioned that he very much wanted the

red rug on which he was standing at the time and which
had belonged to Kaye. Before Miss Brown could answer
him, Davis had the chilling sensation of a presence and the
impression that a spirit was saying to him, "No, you may
not take my rug.”

“Since that time, I have also heard footsteps, and the
crying of a child. Lately, I wake up, out of a deep sleep,
around midnight or 2 A.M., under the impression that
someone is trying to reach me. This has never happened to
me before.”

Miss Brown then invited me to come out and investi-
gate the matter. I spoke to Jonathan Davis and asked him
to come along on the day when my medium and I would
pay the house a visit. Davis contributed additional infor-
mation. According to him, on the night of August 6, 1966,
when Miss Brown had awakened from deep sleep with par-
ticularly disturbed thoughts, she had gone out on the bal-
cony overlooking the Hudson River. At the same time, she
mixed herself a stiff drink to calm her nerves. As she stood
on the balcony with her drink in hand, she suddenly felt
another presence with her, and she knew at that instant,
had she looked to the right, she would have seen a person.
She quickly gulped down her drink and went back to sleep.
She remembered, as Mr. Davis pointed out, that her for-
mer housemate had strongly disapproved of her drinking.

“It may interest you to know,” Miss Brown said,

“that the hills around High Tor Mountain, which are so
near to our house, are reputed to be inhabited by a race of
dwarves that come down from the mountains at night and
work such mischief as moving road signs, et cetera. That
there is some feeling of specialness, even enchantment,
about this entire area, Kaye always felt, and I believe that
if spirits can roam the earth, hers is here at the house she
so loved.”

The story sounded interesting enough, even though I
did not take Miss Brown's testimony at face value. As is
always the case when a witness has preconceived notions
about the origin of a psychic disturbance, I assume nothing
until I have investigated the case myself. Miss Brown had
said nothing about the background of the house. From my
knowledge of the area, I knew that there were many old
houses still standing on the river front.

Ethel Johnson Meyers was my medium, and Cather-
ine, my wife, drove the car, as on so many other occasions.
My wife, who had by then become extremely interested in
the subject, helped me with the tape recording equipment
and the photography. Riverside Avenue runs along the
river but is a little hard to locate if you don’t know your
way around Haverstraw. The medium-size house turned
out to be quite charming, perched directly on the water’s
edge. Access to it was now from the street side, although I
felt pretty sure that the main entrance had been either from
around the corner or from the water itself. From the looks

The Haverstraw Ferry Case

153

of the house, it was immediately clear to me that we were
dealing with a pre-Revolutionary building.

Miss Brown let us into a long verandah running
alongside the house, overlooking the water. Adjacent to it
was the living room, artistically furnished and filled with
antiquities, rugs, and pillows. Mr. Davis could not make it
after all, owing to some unexpected business in the city.

Ethel Meyers sat down in a comfortable chair in the
corner of the living room, taking in the appointments with
the eye of a woman who had furnished her own home not
so long before. She knew nothing about the case or the
nature of our business here.

“I see three men and a woman," she began. “The
woman has a big nose and is on the older side; one of the
men has a high forehead; and then there is a man with a
smallish kind of nose, a round face, and long hair. This
goes back some time, though.”

“Do you feel an actual presence in this house?”

"I feel as if someone is looking at me from the back,”
Ethel replied. "It might be a woman. I have a sense of dis-
turbance. I feel as if I wanted to run away — I’m now
speaking as if I were her, you understand — I’m looking for
the moment to run, to get away.”

Ethel took a deep breath and looked toward the
verandah, and beyond it to the other side of the Hudson
River. “Somebody stays here who keeps looking out a win-
dow to see if anyone is coming. I can’t seem to find the
window. There is a feeling of panic. It feels as if I were
afraid of somebody’s coming. A woman and two men are
involved. I feel I want to protect someone.”

“Let the individual take over, then, Ethel,” I sug-
gested, hoping that trance would give us further clues.

But Ethel wasn’t quite ready for it. “I’ve got to find
that window,” she said. “She is full of determination to
find that window.”

“Why is the window so important to her?”

“She wants to know if someone is coming. She’s got
to look out the window.”

I instructed Ethel to tell the spirit that we would look
for the window, and to be calm. But to the contrary, Ethel
seemed more and more agitated. “Got to go to the win-
dow. . .the window. . .the window. The window isn’t here
anymore, but I’ve got to find it. Who took away the. . . .

No, it is not here. It is not this way. It is that way.” By
now Ethel was gradually sinking into trance, although by
no means a complete one. At certain moments she was still
speaking as herself, giving us her clairvoyant impressions,
while at other moments some alien entity was already
speaking through her directly.

“Very sick here, very sick,” she said, her words fol-
lowed by deep moaning. For several minutes I spoke to the
entity directly, explaining that whatever he was now expe-
riencing was only the passing symptoms remembered and
had no validity in the present.

The moaning, however, continued for some time. I
assured the entity that he could speak to me directly, and
that there was nothing to be afraid of, for we had come as
friends.

Gradually, the moaning became quieter, and individ-
ual words could be understood. “What for? What for? The
other house. . . ” This was immediately followed by a series
of moans. I asked who the person was and why he was
here, as is my custom. Why are you bringing him here?”
the entranced medium said. That man, that man, why are
you bringing him here? Why? Why?” This was followed
by heavy tears.

As soon as I could calm the medium again, the con-
versation continued. “What troubles you? What is your
problem? I would like to help you,” I said.

“Talk, talk, talk. . .too many. . .too many.”

“Be calm, please.”

“No! Take him away! I can’t tell. They have left.
Don’t touch me! Take it away! Why hurt me so?”

“It’s all right now; much has happened since,” I
began.

Heavy tears was the response. “They went away.
Don’t bother me! They have gone. Don’t touch! Take him
away! Take them off my neck!”

“It’s all right,” I said again, in as soothing a tone of
voice as I could muster. “You are free. You need not worry
or fear anything.”

Ethel’s voice degenerated into a mumble now. “Can’t
talk. . .so tired. . .go away.”

“You may talk freely about yourself.”

“I'll tell you when they’ve gone. I didn’t help. ... I
didn’t help. ... I didn’t know.”

“Who are the people you are talking about?”

“I don’t know. They took it over.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“They went away over the water. Please take this off
so I can talk better.”

Evidently, the entity thought that he was still gagged
or otherwise prevented from speaking clearly. In order to
accommodate him, I told him I was taking off whatever
was bothering him, and he could speak freely and clearly
now. Immediately, there was a moaning sound, more of
relief than of pain. But the entity would not believe that I
had taken “it” off and called me a liar instead. I tried to
explain that he was feeling a memory from the past, but he
did not understand that. Eventually he relented.

“What is your name?” I asked.

“You know, you know.” Evidently he had mistaken
me for someone else. I assured him that I did not know his
name.

“You are a bloody rich man, that is what you are,”
he said, not too nicely. Again, he remembered whatever
was preventing him from speaking, and, clutching his
throat, cried, “I can’t speak... the throat...” Then, sud-
denly, he realized there was no more pain and calmed

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts
154

down considerably. "I didn’t have that trouble after all,” he
commented.

"Exactly. That is why we’ve come to help you.”

“Enough trouble — I saw them come up, but they
went away.”

All along I had assumed that we were talking to a
male. Since the entity was using Ethel's voice, there were
of course some female tinges to it, but somehow it sounded
more like a masculine voice than that of a woman. But it
occurred to me that I had no proof one way or another.

“What is your name? Are you a gentleman or. . . ”

"Defenseless woman. Defenseless. I didn’t take any-
one. But you won’t believe me.”

I assured her that I would.

“You won’t believe me. . . . It was dark. It was dark
here — I told him, take care of me.”

“Is this your house?”

“Yes.”

“What is your name?”

“My name is Jenny.”

“Why are you here?”

“Where is my window? Where is it?"

I ignored the urgency of that remark and continued
with my questioning. “What is your family name?”

“Smith... Smith."

"Where and when were you born?”

There was no reply.

“What day is this today?” I continued.

“July.”

"What year are we in?”

"’80.”

“What went on in this house? Tell me about it.”

“They brought him here. They came here.” Evi-
dently the woman wasn’t too happy about what she was
about to tell me.

“Whose house is this?”

“Joshua. Joshua Smith.”

“How is he related to you?”

“Husband. They brought him. . . . I told them, tell
them! No. . .no one was coming. That is all I told them. I
don’t know why they hurt me.”

“You mean, they thought you knew something?”

“Yah. . .my friends. All that noise. Why don’t they
stop? Oh, God, I feel pain. They got away. I told you they
got away.”

“Who are the people you fear?”

“Guns — I must look in the window. They are com-
ing. All is clear. . .time to go. . .they get away. . .they got
away. . . . See, look, they got away. It is dark. They are near
the water. I get the money for it.”

“What is the money for?”

“For helping.”

At the time, I hadn’t fully realized the identity of the
speaker. I therefore continued the interrogation in the hope
of ferreting out still more evidential material from her.
“Who is in charge of this country?”

“George. . .George. . .nobody. . .everybody is fighting."

“Where were you born?”

“Here.”

“Where was your husband born?”

Instead of answering the question, she seemed to say,
faintly, but unmistakably, “Andre.”

“Who is Andre?”

“He got away. God Bless His Majesty. He got away.”

“You must go in peace from this house,” I began,
feeling that the time had come to free the spirit from its
compulsion. “Go in peace and never return here, because
much time has gone on since, and all is peaceful now. You
mustn’t come back. You mustn’t come back.”

“They will come back.”

“Nobody will come. It all happened a long time ago.
Go away from here.”

“Johnny. . .Johnny.”

"You are free, you are free. You can go from this
house.”

“Suckers ... bloody suckers They are coming, they

are coming now. I can see them. I can see them! God Bless
the Majesty. They got away, they got away!”

It was clear that Jenny was reliving the most dramatic
moment of her life. Ethel, fully entranced now, sat up in
the chair, eyes glazed, peering into the distance, as if she
were following the movements of people we could not see!

“There is the horse,” the spirit continued. “Quick,
get the horse! I am a loyal citizen. Good to the Crown.
They got away. Where is my window?” Suddenly, the
entity realized that everything wasn’t as it should be. An
expression of utter confusion crept over Ethel’s face.
“Where am I, where am I?”

“You are in a house that now belongs to someone
else,” I explained.

“Where is that window? I don’t know where I am.”

I continued to direct her away from the house, sug-
gesting that she leave in peace and go with our blessings.
But the entity was not quite ready for that yet. She would-
n’t go out the window, either. “The soldiers are there.”

“Only in your memory,” I assured her, but she con-
tinued to be very agitated."

“Gone. . .a rope. . . . My name is Jenny. . . . Save me,
save me!”

At this point, I asked Albert to help free the entity,
who was obviously tremendously embroiled in her emo-
tional memories. My appeal worked. A moment later,
Albert’s crisp, matter-of-fact voice broke through. “We
have taken the entity who was lost in space and time,” he
commented.

If ever there was proof that a good trance medium
does not draw upon the unconscious minds of the sitters —
that is to say, those in the room with her — then this was it.
Despite the fact that several names had come through
Ethel’s entranced lips, I must confess they did not ring a

The Haverstraw Ferry Case

155

bell with me. This is the more amazing as I am historian
and should have recognized the name Joshua Smith. But
the fact is, in the excitement of the investigation, I did not,
and I continued to press for better identification and back-
ground. In fact, I did not even connect John with Andre
and continued to ask who John was. Had we come to the
house with some knowledge that a Revolutionary escape
had taken place here, one might conceivably attribute the
medium’s tremendous performance to unconscious or even
conscious knowledge of what had occurred in the place. As
it was, however, we had come because of a suspected ghost
created only a few years ago — a ghost that had not the
slightest connection with pre-Revolutionary America. No
one, including the owner of the house, had said anything
about any historical connotations of the house. Yet, instead
of coming up with the suspected restless girl who had com-
mitted suicide, Mrs. Meyers went back into the eighteenth
century and gave us authentic information — information I
am sure she did not possess at the time, since she is neither
a scholar specializing in pre-Revolutionary Americana nor
familiar with the locality or local history.

When Albert took over the body of the instrument, I
was still in the dark about the connections between this
woman and Smith and Andre. “Albert," I therefore asked
with some curiosity, "who is this entity?”

“There are three people here,” Albert began. “One is
gone on horseback, and one went across. They came here
to escape because they were surrounded. One of them was
Major Andre.”

“The historical Major Andre?” 1 asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Albert replied. “They took asylum here until
the coast was clear, but as you may well know, Andre did
not get very far, and Arnold escaped across the water.”

“What about the woman? Is her real name Smith?”

“Yes, but she is not related to Joshua Smith. She is a
woman in charge of properties, living here.”

“Why does she give the name Jenny Smith?”

“She was thinking more of her employer than of her-
self. She worked for Joshua Smith, and her name was
Jennifer.”

“I see,” I said, trying to sort things out. “Have you
been able help her?”

"Yes, she is out of a vacuum now, thanks to you. We
will of course have to watch her until she makes up her
mind that it is not 1780.”

“Are there any others here in the house?” I asked.

“There are others. The Tories were always protected
around this neck of the woods, and when there was an
escape, it was usually through here.”

“Are all the disturbances in this house dating back to
the period?"

“No, there are later disturbances here right on top of
old disturbances.”

“What is the most recent disturbance in this house?”

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

“A woman and a child.”

Immediately this rang a bell. It would have been
strange if the medium had not also felt the most recent
emotional event in this house, that involving a woman and
a child. According to Jonathan Davis, Mrs. Brown had
heard the sound of a child in a room that was once used as
a nursery. Even her young daughter, then age five, had
heard the sounds and been frightened by them. But what
about the woman?

“The woman became very disturbed because of the
entity you have just released,” Albert responded. “In fact,
she had been taken over. This was not too long ago.”

“What happened to her?”

“She became possessed by the first woman, Jennifer,
and as a result felt very miserable.”

“Am I correct in assuming that Jennifer, the colonial
woman, was hanged?”

“That is right.”

“And am I further correct in assuming that the more
recent woman took on the symptoms of the unfortunate
Jennifer?”

“That is right, too.”

“I gather Jennifer died in this house. How?”

“Strangulation.”

“What about the more recent case? How did she

die?”

“Her inner self was tortured. She lost her breath. She
was badly treated by men who did not understand her
aberration, the result of her possession by the first spirit in
the house. Thus, she committed suicide. It was poison or
strangulation or both, I am not sure.”

“Do you still sense her in the house now?”

“Yes. She is always following people around. She is
here all right, but we did not let her use the instrument,
because she could stay on, you know. However, we have
her here, under control. She is absolutely demented now.

At the time she committed suicide, she was possessed by
this woman, but we cannot let her speak because she would
possess the instrument. Wait a moment. All right, thank
you, they have taken her.” Evidently, Albert had been
given the latest word by his helpers on the other side. It
appeared that Kaye was in safe hands, after all.

“Is there any connection between this woman and the
present occupants of the house?” I asked.

“Yes, but there will be no harm. She was not in the
right mind when she died, and she is not yet at rest. I’m
sure she would want to make it clear that she was pos-
sessed and did not act as herself. Her suicide was not of
her own choosing. I aim repeating words I am being told: it
was not of her own volition. She suffered terribly from the
possession, because the colonial woman had been beaten
and strangled by soldiers.”

"Before you withdraw, Albert, can we be reasonably
sure that the house will be quiet from now on?”

"Yes. We will do our best.”

156

With that, Albert withdrew, and Ethel returned to
her own self, seemingly a bit puzzled at first as to where
she was, rubbing her eyes, yawning a couple of times, then
settling back into the comfortable chair and waiting for me
to ask further questions, if any. But for the moment I had
questions only for the owner of the house. “How old is this
house, and what was on the spot before it was built?”

“It is at least a hundred years old, and I remember
someone telling me that something happened down here on
this spot, something historical, like an escape. There were
soldiers here during the Revolutionary War, but I really
don’t know exactly what happened.”

It is important to point out that even Miss Brown,
who had lived in the area for some time, was not aware of
the full background of her house. The house, in fact, was
far more than a hundred years old. It stood already in Sep-
tember 1780, when Major John Andre had visited it. At
that time, there was a ferry below the house that connected
with the opposite shore, and the house itself belonged to
Joshua Smith, a good friend of General Benedict Arnold. It
was to Joshua Smith that Arnold had entrusted the escape
of Major Andre. Everything Ethel had said was absolutely
true. Three people had tried to escape: Andre, a servant,
and, of course, General Arnold, who succeeded. Smith was
a Loyalist and considered his help a matter of duty. To the
American Army he was a traitor. Even though Andre was
later captured, the Revolutionary forces bore down heavily
on Smith and his property. Beating people to death in
order to elicit information was a favorite form of treatment
used in the eighteenth century by both the British and the
American armies. Undoubtedly, Jennifer had been the vic-
tim of Revolutionary soldiers, and Kaye, perhaps psychic
herself, the victim of Jennifer.

Ethel Meyers had once again shown what a superb
medium she is. But there were still some points to be
cleared up.

“How long have you had the house now, Miss
Brown?” I asked.

“A year and a half. Kaye’s suicide took place after we
had been here for two months. We had bought the house
together. She had been extremely upset because her hus-
band was going to cut off his support. Also, he had
announced a visit, and she didn’t want to see him. So she
took off on a Sunday with her child, and in Newburgh she
committed suicide along with the child. They didn’t find
her until Thursday.”

“After her death, what unusual things did you expe-
rience in the house?”

“I always felt that someone was trying to communi-
cate with me, and I was fleeing from it in terror. I still feel
her presence here, but now I want it to be here. She always
said that she wanted to stay here, that she loved this river
bank. We both agreed that she would always stay here.
When I heard all sorts of strange noises after her death,
such as doors closing by themselves and footsteps where no
one could be seen walking, I went into an alcoholic obliv-
ion and on a sleeping-pill binge, because I was so afraid.

At the time, I just didn't want to communicate.”

“Prior to these events, did you have any psychic
experiences?”

“I had many intuitive things happen to me, such as
knowing things before they happened. I would know when
someone was dead before I got the message; for instance,
prior to your coming, I had heard noises almost every
night and felt the presence of people. My little girl says
there is a little Susan upstairs, and sometimes I too hear
her cry. I hear her call and the way she walks up and down
the stairs.”

“Did you ever think that some of this might come
from an earlier period?”

“No, I never thought of that.”

“Was Kaye the kind of person who might commit
suicide?”

“Certainly not. It would be completely out of charac-
ter for her. She used to say, there was always a way, no
matter what the problem, no matter what the trouble. She
was very optimistic, very reliable, very resourceful. And
she considered challenges and problems things one had to
surmount. After her death, I looked through the mail,
through all her belongings. My first impression was that
she had been murdered, because it was so completely out
of character for her. I even talked to the police about it.
Their investigation was in my opinion not thorough
enough. They never looked into the matter of where she
had spent the four days and four nights between Sunday
and Thursday, before she was found. But I was so broken
up about it myself, I wasn’t capable of conducting an
investigation of my own. For a while I even suspected her
husband of having killed her.”

“But now we know, don't we,” I said.

The ferry at Haverstraw hasn't run in a long, long
time. The house on Riverside Avenue still stands, quieter
than it used to be, and it is keeping its secrets locked up
tight now. The British and the Americans have been fast
friends for a long time now, and the passions of 1780
belong to history.

The Haverstraw Ferry Case

157

* 18

“Ship of Destiny”:

The U. S. F. Constellation

The DARK Buick RACED through the windy night, turn-
ing corners rather more sharply than it should: But the
expedition was an hour late, and there were important peo-
ple awaiting our arrival. It was 9 o’clock in the evening,
and at that time Baltimore is pretty tame: Traffic had
dwindled down to a mere trickle, and the chilly October
weather probably kept many pedestrians indoors, so we
managed to cross town at a fast clip.

Jim Lyons had come to pick us up at the hotel min-
utes before, and the three committee members awaiting us
at the waterfront had been there since 8 o’clock. But I had
arrived late from Washington, and Sybil Leek had only
just joined us: She had come down from New York with-
out the slightest idea why I had summoned her. This
was all good sport to my psychic associate, and the dark
streets which we now left behind for more open territory
meant nothing to her. She knew this was Baltimore, and
a moment later she realized we were near water: You
couldn’t very well mistake the hulls of ships silhouetted
against the semidark sky, a sky faintly lit by the reflections
from the city’s downtown lights.

The car came to a screeching halt at the end of a
pier. Despite the warmth of the heater, we were eager to
get out into the open. The excitement of the adventure was
upon us.

As we piled out of Jim Lyons’ car, we noticed three
shivering men standing in front of a large, dark shape.

That shape, on close inspection, turned out to be the hull
of a large sailing ship. For the moment, however, we
exchanged greetings and explained our tardiness: little com-
fort to men who had been freezing for a full hour!

The three committee members were Gordon Stick,
chairman of the Constellation restoration committee, Jean
Hofmeister, the tall, gaunt harbormaster of Baltimore, and
Donald Stewart, the curator of the ancient ship and a pro-
fessional historian.

Although Sybil realized she was in front of a large
ship, she had no idea of what sort of ship it was; only a
single, faint bulb inside the hull cast a little light on the
scene, and nobody had mentioned anything about the ship
or the purpose of our visit.

There was no superstructure visible, and no masts,
and suddenly I remembered that Jim Lyons had casually
warned me — the old ship was “in repair” and not its true
self as yet. How accurate this was I began to realize a
moment later when we started to board her. I was looking
for the gangplank or stairway to enter.

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

The harbormaster shook his head with a knowing
smile.

“I’m afraid you'll have to rough it, Mr. Holzer,” he

said.

He then shone his miner’s lamp upon the black hull.
There was a rope ladder hanging from a plank protruding
from the deck. Beyond the plank, there seemed to be a
dark, gaping hole, which, he assured me, led directly into
the interior of the ship. The trick was not to miss it, of
course. If one did, there was a lot of water below. The ship
lay about two yards from the pier, enough room to drown,
if one were to be so clumsy as to fall off the ladder or miss
the plank. I looked at the rope ladder swaying in the cold
October wind, felt the heavy tape recorder tugging at my
back and the camera around my neck, and said to myself,
“Hans, you’re going for a bath. How do I get out of all

Now I’m not a coward normally, but I hate taking
chances. Right now I wished I were someplace else. Any-
place except on this chilly pier in Baltimore. While I was
still wrestling with words to find the right formula that
would get me off the hook, I saw Sybil Leek, who is not a
small woman, hurry up that rope ladder with the agility of
a mother hen rushing home to the coop for supper. In a
second, she had disappeared into the hull of the ship. I
swallowed hard and painfully and said to myself, if Sybil
can do it, so can I. Bravely, I grabbed the ladder and
hauled myself up, all the while sending thought messages
to my loved ones, just in case I didn’t make it. Step by
step, farther and farther away from firm ground I went. I
didn’t dare look back, for if I had I am sure the others
would have looked like dwarfs to me by now. Finally I saw
the wooden plank sticking out of the hull, and like a pirate-
condemned sailor in reverse I walked the plank, head
down, tape recorder banging against my ribs, camera hit-
ting my eyeballs, not daring to stand up lest I hit the
beams — until I was at the hole; then, going down on my
knees, I half crawled into the hull of the ship where I
found Sybil whistling to herself, presumably a sailor’s tune.
At least I had gotten inside. How I would eventually get
back out again was a subject too gruesome to consider at
that moment. It might well be that I would have to remain
on board until a gangplank had been installed, but for the
moment at least I was safe and could begin to feel human
again. The others had now followed us up the ladder, and
everybody was ready to begin the adventure.

There was just enough light to make out the ancient
beams and wooden companionways, bunks, bulkheads, and
what have you: A very old wooden ship lay before us, in
the state of total disrepair with its innards torn open and
its sides exposed, but still afloat and basically sound and
strong. Nothing whatever was labeled or gave away the
name of our ship, nor were there any dates or other details
as the restoration had not yet begun in earnest and only the

158

The U. S. F. Constellation as she
used to look

outer hull had been secured as a first step. Sybil had no
way of knowing anything about the ship, except that which
her own common sense told her — a very old wooden ship.
For that reason, I had chosen the dark of night for our
adventure in Baltimore, and I had pledged the men to keep
quiet about everything until we had completed our
investigation.

* * *

I first heard about this remarkable ship, the frigate
Constellation, when Jim Lyons, a TV personality in Balti-
more, wrote to me and asked me to have a psychic look at
the historic ship. There had been reports of strange hap-
penings aboard, and there were a number of unresolved
historical questions involving the ship. Would I come
down to see if I could unravel some of those ancient mys-
teries? The frigate was built in 1797, the first man-of-war
of the United States. As late as World War II she was still in
commission — something no other ship that old ever
accomplished. Whenever Congress passed a bill decommis-
sioning the old relic, something happened to stay its hands:
Patriotic committees sprang up and raised funds, or indi-
viduals in Washington would suddenly come to the rescue,
and the scrappy ship stayed out of the scrapyard. It was as
if something, or someone, was at work, refusing to let the
ship die. Perhaps some of this mystic influence rubbed off
on President Franklin Roosevelt, a man who was interested
in psychic research as was his mother, Sarah Delano Roo-
sevelt. At any rate, when the Constellation lay forgotten at
Newport, Rhode Island, and the voices demanding her
demolition were louder than ever, Roosevelt reacted as if
the mysterious power aboard the frigate had somehow
reached out to him: In 1940, at the height of World War
II, he decreed that the frigate Constellation should be the
flagship of the U. S. Atlantic Fleet!

* * *

Long after our remarkable visit to Baltimore on a
windy October night, I got to know the remarkable ship a
lot better. At the time, I did not wish to clutter my uncon-
scious mind with detailed knowledge of her history, so that
Sybil Leek could not be accused of having obtained data
from it.

The year was 1782. The United States had been vic-
torious in its war for independence, and the new nation
could well afford to disband its armed forces. Commerce
with foreign countries thrived, and American merchant
ships appeared in increasing numbers on the high seas. But
a nation then as now is only as strong as her ability to
defend herself from enemy attacks. Soon the marauding
freebooters of North Africa and the Caribbean made
American shipping unsafe, and many sailors fell into pirate
hands. Finally, in 1794, Congress decided to do something
about this situation, and authorized the construction of six
men-of-war or frigates to protect American shipping
abroad. The bill was duly signed by George Washington,
and work on the ships started immediately. However, only
three of these ships, meant to be sister ships, were built in
time for immediate action. The first frigate, and thus the
very oldest ship in the U. S. Navy, was the U. S. F. Con-
stellation, followed by the Constitution and the United
States. The Constellation had three main masts, a wooden
hull, and thirty-six guns, while the other two ships had
forty-four guns each. But the Constellation’s builder, David
Stodder of Baltimore, gave her his own patented sharp bow
lines, a feature later famous with the Baltimore Clippers.
This design gave the ships greater speed, and earned the
Constellation, after she had been launched, the nickname of
“Yankee Race Horse.’’

“Ship of Destiny”: The U. S. F. Constellation

159

* * *

On June 26,1 798, the brand-new frigate put out to
sea from Baltimore, then an important American seaport,
and headed for the Caribbean. She was under the com-
mand of a veteran of the Revolutionary War by the name
of Thomas Truxtun, who was known for his efficiency and
stern views in matters of discipline. A month after the ship
had arrived in the area to guard American shipping, she
saw action for the first time. Although the North African
menace had been subdued for the time being in the wake
of a treaty with the Barbary chieftains, the French menace
in the Caribbean was as potent as ever.

Consequently, it was with great eagerness that the
crew of the Constellation came upon the famous French
frigate L’Insurgente passing near the island of Nevis on a
balmy February day in 1 799. Within an hour after the first
broadside, the French warship was a helpless wreck. This
first United States naval victory gave the young nation a
sense of dignity and pride which was even more pro-
nounced a year later when the Constellation met up with
the French frigate La Vengeance. Although the American
ship had increased its guns by two, to a total of thirty-
eight, she was, still outclassed by the French raider sport-
ing fifty-two guns. The West Indian battle between the
two naval giants raged for five hours. Then the French
ship, badly battered, escaped into the night.

America was feeling its oats now; although only a
handful of countries had established close relations with the
new republic, and the recently won freedom from Britain
was far from secure, Congress felt it would rather fight
than submit to blackmail and holdup tactics.

Although Captain Truxtun left the Constellation at
the end of 1801, his drill manual and tactical methods
became the basis for all later U. S. Navy procedures. Next
to command the Constellation was Alexander Murray,
whose first mission was to sail for the Mediterranean in
1802 to help suppress the Barbary pirates, who had once
again started to harass American shipping. During the
ensuing blockade of Tripoli, the Constellation saw much
action, sinking two Arab ships and eventually returning to
her home port in late 1805 after a peace treaty had finally
been concluded with the Arab pirates.

* * *

For seven years there was peace, and the stately ship
lay in port at Washington. Then in 1812, when war with
Britain erupted again, she was sent to Hampton Roads,
Virginia, to help defend the American installations at Fort
Craney. But as soon as peace returned between the erst-
while colonies and the former motherland, the Barbary
pirates acted up again, and it was deemed necessary to go
to war against them once more.

CHAPTER FIVE: Famous Ghosts

This time the Constellation was part of Stephen
Decatur’s squadron, and remained in North African waters
until 1817 to enforce the new peace treaty with Algeria.

America was on the move, expanding not only over-
land and winning its own West, but opening up new trade
routes overseas. Keeping pace with its expanding merchant
fleet was a strong, if small, naval arm. Again, the Constella-
tion guarded American shipping off South America
between 1819 and 1821, then sailed around the Cape to the
Pacific side of the continent, and finally put down the last
Caribbean pirates in 1826. Later she was involved in the
suppression of the Seminole Indian rebellion in Florida,
and served as Admiral Dallas’s flagship. In 1840 she was
sent on a wide-ranging trip, sailing from Boston to Rio de
Janeiro under the command of Commodore Lawrence
Kearny. From there she crossed the Pacific Ocean to open
up China for American trade; returning home via Hawaii,
Kearny was able, in the proverbial nick of time, to prevent
a British plot to seize the islands.

The British warship H. M. S. Caryfoot had been at
anchor at Honolulu when the Constellation showed up.
Hastily, the British disavowed a pledge by King Kame-
hameha III to turn over the reins of government to the
ship’s captain, and native rule was restored.

For a few years, the famous old ship rested in its
berth at Norfolk, Virginia. She had deserved her temporary
retirement, having logged some 58,000 miles on her last
trip alone, all of it with sail power only. In 1853 it was
decided to give her an overhaul. After all, the Navy’s old-
est ship was now fifty-five years old and showed some
stress and strain. The rebuilding included the addition of
twelve feet to her length, and her reclassification as a
twenty -two -gun sloop of war. Most of her original timber
was kept, repairing and replacing only what was worn out.
Once more the veteran ship sailed for the Mediterranean,
but the handwriting was already on the wall: In 1858, she
was decommissioned.

Here the mysterious force that refused to let the ship
die came into play again.

When civil war seemed inevitable between North and
South, the Constellation was brought back into service in
1859 to become the flagship of the African squadron. Her
job was intercepting slave ships bound for the United
States, and she managed to return a thousand slaves to
their native Africa.

Outbreak of war brought her back home in 1 861 , and
after another stint in the Mediterranean protecting United
States shipping from marauding Confederate raiders, she
became a receiving and training ship at Hampton Roads,
Virginia.

Sailing ships had seen their day, and the inevitable
seemed at hand: Like so many wooden sailing ships, she
would eventually be destined for the scrapheap. But again
she was saved from this fate. The Navy returned her to
active service in 1871 as a training ship at the Annapolis
Naval Academy. The training period was occasionally

160

interrupted by further sea missions, such as her errand of
mercy to Ireland during the 1880 famine. Gradually, the
old ship had become a symbol of American naval tradition
and was known the world over. In 1894, almost a hundred
years old now, the still -seaworthy man-of-war returned to
Newport for another training mission. By 1914, her home
port Baltimore claimed the veteran for a centennial celebra-
tion, and she would have continued her glorious career as
an active seagoing ship of the U. S. Navy, forever, had it
not been for World War II. More important matters took
precedence over the welfare of the Constellation, which lay
forgotten at the Newport berth. Gradually, her condition
worsened, and ultimately she was no longer capable of
putting out to sea.

When the plight of this ancient sailor was brought to
President Roosevelt’s attention, he honored her by making
her once again the flagship of the U. S. Atlantic Fleet. But
the honor was not followed by funds to restore her to her
erstwhile glory. After the war she was berthed in Boston,
where attempts were made to raise funds by allowing visi-
tors aboard. By 1953, the ship was in such poor condition
that her total loss seemed only a matter of time.

At this moment, a committee of patriotic Baltimore
citizens decided to pick up the challenge. As a first step,
the group secured title to the relic from the U. S. Navy.

Next, the ship was brought home to Baltimore, like a
senior citizen finally led back to its native habitat. All the
tender care of a sentimental association was lavished on
her, and with the help of volunteers, the restoration com-
mittee managed to raise the necessary funds to restore the
Constellation to its original appearance, inside and out. At
the time of our nocturnal visit, only the first stage of the
restoration had been undertaken: to make her hull seawor-
thy so she could safely stay afloat at her berth. In the sum-
mer of 1968, the rest of the work would be undertaken, but
at the time of our visit, the inside was still a raw assort-
ment of wooden beams and badly hinged doors, her super-
structure reduced to a mastless flat deck and the original
corridors and companionways in their grime-covered state.
All this would eventually give way to a spick-and-span
ship, as much the pride of America in 1968 as she was
back in 1797 when she was launched.

But apart from the strange way in which fate seemed
to prevent the destruction of this proud sailing ship time
and again, other events had given the Constellation the rep-
utation of a haunted ship. This fame was not especially
welcomed by the restoration committee, of course, and it
was never encouraged, but for the sake of the record, they
did admit and document certain strange happenings aboard
the ship. In Donald Stewart, the committee had the ser-
vices of a trained historian, and they hastened to make him
the curator of their floating museum.

* * *

Whether or not any psychic occurrences took place
aboard the Constellation prior to her acquisition by the

The U. S. F. Constellation today

committee is not known, but shortly after the Baltimore
group had brought her into Baltimore drydock, a strange
incident took place. On July 26, 1959, a Roman Catholic
priest boarded the ship, which was then already open to
the public, although not in very good condition. The priest
had read about the famous ship, and asked curator Donald
Stewart if he might come aboard even though it was before
the 10 A.M. opening hour for visitors. He had to catch a
train for Washington at eleven, and would never be able to
face his flock back in Detroit without having seen so famed
a vessel. The curator gladly waived the rules, and the good
father ascended. However, since Mr. Stewart was in the
midst of taking inventory and could not spare the time to
show him around, he suggested that the priest just walk
around on his own.

At 10:25, the priest returned from below deck, look-
ing very cheerful. Again the curator apologized for not
having taken him around.

“That’s all right,” the man of the cloth replied, "the
old gent showed me around.”

“What old gent?” the curator demanded. “There is
nobody else aboard except you and me.”

The priest protested. He had been met by an old
man in a naval uniform, he explained, and the fellow had
shown him around below. The man knew his ship well, for

“Ship of Destiny^: The U. S. F. Constellation

161

he was able to point out some of the gear and battle
stations.

“Ridiculous,” bellowed Mr. Stewart, who is a very
practical Scotsman. “Let’s have a look below.”

Both men descended into the hull and searched the
ship from bow to stern. Not a living soul was to be found
outside of their own good selves.

When they returned topside, the priest was no longer
smiling. Instead, he hurriedly left, pale and shaken, to
catch that train to Washington. He knew he had met an old
sailor, and he knew he was cold sober when he did.

Donald Stewart’s curiosity, however, was aroused,
and he looked into the background of the ship a bit more
closely. He discovered then that similar experiences had
happened to naval personnel whe

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